


To Kill Your Joys with Love

by Sola_Ircadia



Category: Tekken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sola_Ircadia/pseuds/Sola_Ircadia
Summary: Four years ago, Jin was brought into Lee Chaolan’s care by little more than an accidental slip of fate. Nowadays, nothing seems to be an accident, and life is evidently taking every possible opportunity to drag them both back into the spiraling madness of the Mishima family. Jin is bound to the eternal conflict by the curse of his blood, but he is also the most likely to escape it, especially with the support of those who care for him. Lee is compelled by the permanence of his bond to the family itself, unable to pull away for very long before he is forced to return.Jin wants answers. Lee wants to move on. They quickly find that those things cannot be achieved in tandem.





	1. Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous overuse of out-of-context Shakespeare quotes ahead. I found a theme and beat it to death.
> 
> About a year and a half ago, this started as a desire to explore Lee and Jin’s potential familial relationship, as well as a “what-if” regarding Lee being responsible for Jin’s four years of training rather than Heihachi. This...ended up being much more than that, as is often the case when someone begins their author’s notes with “This started as...”. 
> 
> So. With that said, I hope you enjoy this! I know that I’ve definitely enjoyed writing it and will continue to do so. The goal (please God grant me this one thing) is to update on a monthly/bimonthly basis at least. If all goes well, I might be able to update more frequently than that, so I'm really hoping for things to go in my favor here.
> 
> My working playlist can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUQv1kr277Q8_Inkp6W705fWHChBufhzU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have seen better days.

 

His knees hit the ground, but he doesn’t feel it. Not in the way he should. The floor of the training room has been replaced by charred ground, by rubble, by the ruined remains of a place that he once knew. The air is hot, suddenly, rent with mixed degrees silence and a deafening roar. He’s on his knees again, he’s on his knees and he’s all scraped up and he knows where he is – he knows where he should be, but he’s somewhere else instead, the memories returning with such speed and force that he can’t possibly keep his composure about him.

 

His hands hit the ground next, sweating, his shaking arms a poor excuse for stability. _He’s still so weak_. There is bloodied dirt underneath his fingernails, burnt grass against his palms, sharp chunks of wood and glass and whatever had once been inside the house before it was completely destroyed. _Why couldn’t you do anything?_ It’s a wasteland, and it’s all he sees, all he can hear, all he can taste with every choked swallow of ash and despair. _It’s weakness_. Body curling in on itself, hands grabbing mindlessly at the sides of his head, he gasps for air that sears his lungs with smoke and devastation and the overwhelming taste of death. Distantly, he hears someone screaming.

 

Distantly, he realizes that it’s him.

 

Trembling, he curses himself, trying and failing to keep from falling back into this mental hellscape that he can never seem to free himself from. Years pass, time continues, life moves on with every step he takes, and yet it never goes away – no matter how much stronger he gets or how long it has been or how much he practices, it’ll never go away.

 

He remembers. He remembers, he _remembers_ , he’ll _always remember_.

 

_(He would give anything to forget.)_

 

Jin grits his teeth and chokes back a sob, numb fingers digging into the sides of his head as though he can physically rip the memories out of his own mind. _Gods_ , how he wishes that he could – the crushing reality of it all is still too much for him, the ruined house, the decimation of everything he’d ever known, the aching wound of emptiness left gaping in his soul –

 

“Jin.”

 

Amidst the chaos, there is something different. Something gentler, quieter. Something firm and unyielding, a presence that shouldn’t be here but is present nonetheless. Jin’s subconscious latches onto it, desperate for a way out of this self-inflicted disaster zone.

 

“Jin, can you hear me?”

 

He swallows painfully, the lump in his throat constricting his ability to breathe. _Focus. You need to focus._ The voice speaking to him is familiar somehow, the soft, reassuring tone of it miraculously cutting right through the tumult in his head. All he can see is the ruination that the monster left behind, but at least now there is this. _At least you have this._

 

“Jin, ssh, focus. Listen to me.”

 

Jin’s breathing hitches, mentally clinging to the sound with every ounce of strength he possesses even as another sensory stimulant – _darkness, pain, an unfamiliar rage_ – billows like a solar flare through his mind. _Don’t pay attention to that_. He pushes it back. He is listening. He must listen now.

 

“You are not there anymore.” The voice murmurs, a little closer now, a little clearer. “You are not in Yakushima. You are not alone. You are here, and you are safe.”

 

He is safe. He knows that. He has been for a few years now. _Four years. Use your words_. Another breath, a little smoother this time. The voice hums in approval, a sudden color amidst the ash and dust, and now Jin can feel a hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

 

“Good, very good. You’re fine.” The voice is still soft, a welcome contrast to the uncontrollable tempest of emotions in his soul. “Now, listen to me. I need you to focus on my hand, okay? Can you do that for me?”

 

Very slowly, Jin complies. He swallows, shutting his eyes tightly and nodding a little bit. If he pays enough attention, the pressure is a good distraction. He’s always been well-attuned to the smallest of stimuli, and this is no exception. _Focus_. Start with the fingertips. He can feel five of them, pressing lightly against the muscles of his shoulder, holding on in a way that is grounding rather than restraining. Jin slowly works his way up from there, taking note of the latent strength of the grip, the exact position of the fingers, the comforting weight of the hand itself. He pictures it all in his mind, and sure enough, the horrible imagery begins to fade to black.

 

Next is his breathing, if he can manage it. _Count the seconds_. Take the sensory input and use it to your advantage. Inhale for four seconds, each beat a different color. _White, green, red, blue._ Exhale for six seconds, add more colors this time. _White, green, red, blue, violet, silver_. Repeat. Keep going. Keep breathing. The hand on his shoulder moves slightly, thumb stroking lightly against the skin in half time with his efforts, and bit by agonizing bit, Jin finally finds himself relaxing.

 

“...Jin?”

 

Jin opens his eyes, blinking a few times as the now-unfamiliar lights of the training room glare down at him. Lighter brown eyes gaze back into his own, studying his face, searching intently for signs of distress or agitation. Relief floods Jin’s veins. _I did it_.

 

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice is rough from screaming. Across from him, the concern in Lee Chaolan’s expression smooths out into a kind of relief that mirrors Jin’s own.

 

“Welcome back.” A quick smile accompanies his words. “Are you alright?”

 

“...yes, I think so.” Jin manages, pausing slightly before looking away. “Thank you.”

 

Lee gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before moving to ruffle his hair, laughing quietly at Jin’s half-hearted protests.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly. “I’m always here to help.”

 

Jin tries to smile back, but it feels weak and sickly in comparison. As is the usual regarding these episodes, he doesn’t feel very well, although he isn’t as nauseous as he used to get. He supposes such a thing could be considered progress. It doesn’t feel like much to celebrate. _Damn_ , he’d been getting better for a while there, too – what the hell has been going on lately?

 

Lee stands, one fluid motion that seems to require no effort at all, and offers Jin a hand up before thinking better of it with a slight frown and a quiet laugh.

 

“You feel steady yet?” He asks, and Jin shakes his head. Nausea or no, his legs are definitely shaking, and he’s not ready to fall back on his knees anytime soon. Heaven knows they’re already bruised enough as it is. Lee doesn’t seem bothered by the weakness, remaining nearby as Jin arranges himself into a more comfortable cross-legged position on the floor. He looks so put-together and poised for someone who just got done running an impromptu training-turned-therapy session, lightly flushed from exertion and not a single hair out of place, and honestly, Jin can’t help but envy his composure at times like these. That’s not to say he doesn’t usually marvel at his guardian’s seemingly untouchable affect, but in the four years that he’s been living here, Jin himself has gotten pretty good at appearing completely unaffected, too, provided that everything is running smoothly. It’s the whole “not losing your cool when you’re in over your head” shtick that Jin hasn’t quite figured out yet, and while it would do him well to learn some of those skills, he hasn’t quite figured out how to bring that potential lesson plan up to Lee yet.

 

Besides, how do you teach someone to keep it together even when everything is falling apart? That’s the kind of thing one can really only learn through experience, and if he hasn’t figured it out by now, will he ever?

 

 _Ah. Stop that._ Shaking off despair, Jin glances up to notice that Lee is looking at him expectantly, and his stomach drops. _Not again_. He must’ve been thinking so hard that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings in their entirety.

 

“Come again?” he asks, somewhat embarrassed, but Lee doesn’t seem fazed. He’s definitely used to it by now – zoning out has been something of a gimmick for Jin since the moment they met, and it doesn’t seem like that’ll be changing anytime soon.

 

“Did you get much sleep last night?” Lee repeats, and Jin bites his lip despite the soft, entreating tone.

 

“It wasn’t very good sleep,” he eventually admits, and Lee clicks his tongue. “What?”

 

“I’m really not sure how much more I can do to tire your silly brain out, Jin Kazama.” He says, and although his words are teasing, there’s an element of self-directed frustration to his tone that leaves Jin with a lingering sense of guilt. “You’re so tightly-wound, you could give a clockwork spring a run for its money.”

 

Jin ducks his head, feeling ashamed. Lee is right, as he always is. Despite the constancy of his daily regimen and how busy he keeps himself, Jin just can’t seem to stop thinking. Thinking, of course, becomes dreaming once he falls asleep, and his dreams will always turn to nightmares.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Lee shakes his head.

 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Lee says, and Jin looks up at him. “I’m sure it’s just temporary. You were doing so well for a while there, you know? This kind of thing is a process – having setbacks is perfectly fine.”

 

Jin nods, knowing the truth of his guardian’s words despite his difficulties in accepting them. The past four years have been a lot of that: Jin learning how to cope with his personal demons and coming to the understanding that changing them into manageable things isn’t just going to happen instantaneously overnight. He’s been through a lot in his nineteen years – too much, as Lee often says – and no amount of resilience is going to make it all go away forever. Setbacks happen. Everyone has good days and bad days, and it’s all just a part of the process. Jin knows this, he really does, it’s just...well, he really thought he would be better at it by now.

 

“That being said, I think that’s enough training for one day.” Lee’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Jin frowns slightly.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Ohh, yes.” To Jin’s surprise, Lee is laughing a little bit now, and he waves a finger in Jin’s direction in a teasing manner. “You don’t need to strain yourself, although I am already aware of your seeming insistence on doing just that. Today’s an off-day for the both of us, I would say – it’s in both of our best interests to get some rest. You’ll have plenty of time to get stronger tomorrow.” He pauses then, looking him up and down with his hands on his hips, and adds, “You think you can stand up yet?”

 

“Oh!” Jin starts, nearly scrambling to his feet and almost losing his frail balance as a result. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

 

Lee steadies him with an amused smile, giving him another cursory once-over before evidently deeming his current state to be satisfactory enough.

 

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, then,” he says lightly, and Jin flushes. “Take some time for yourself, alright?”

 

“I will, thank you.” Jin watches as Lee walks away, the older man grabbing his bag of training gear before heading towards the exit. His every move is flawless – Jin can remember catching him in an awkward hip throw earlier, and he’s not even showing the slightest signs of a limp or discomfort. He hardly breaks a sweat during their training sessions, even the more intense ones, and Jin just can’t fathom what kind of energy conservation skills he must be employing to keep himself so poised. Surely the difference in their stamina can’t still be all that great?

 

“That’s a good boy.” Jin almost misses it when Lee shoots him a smile from the doorway, bright and fleeting – then he’s gone, leaving Jin alone with his thoughts again.

 

This has been...a weird time for him. He’s certain that Lee has noticed it as well, and is giving him the space he needs to sort it out, as well as the assurance that he’ll be around if Jin wants his input on something. They’ve been around each other long enough to know how to handle each other’s moods and habits (Lee more so than Jin, obviously, because his people skills are infinitely better on all accounts) but whatever this particular black cloud is has been giving the both of them a hard time. Jin’s nightmares have become almost uncontrollable, and while one might think that nineteen is too old to still be knocking on your guardian’s bedroom door at night, well, one would be mistaken. Lee is a kindred spirit when it comes to these sorts of things – the rest kind of takes care of itself.

 

Still, Jin is the first to admit that he fears taking advantage of his guardian’s patience. Although Lee has made it fairly clear that he would rather Jin come to him for help instead of trying to handle everything on his own, Jin has still tried to do exactly that. It’s in his nature, no matter how much Lee has attempted to coax it out of him. By now, they’ve reached a compromise of sorts, but Jin knows that his guardian isn’t entirely satisfied with that.

 

Hence last night being spent in petrified wakefulness rather than any sort of rest at all. When he goes to Lee, he usually ends up falling asleep again, or is at least calmed enough by the soft sheets and the long fingers sifting through his hair to doze lightly for an hour or two at a time. He learned pretty quickly when this whole arrangement started that Lee didn’t sleep much, and if anything seemed to get more rest when Jin came to see him versus when he didn’t, so it worked really well for a while. Over the years, a deep bond of trust in this regard had formed between them, and it’s something that Jin can rely on.

 

Or at least, he _could_ rely on it if he wouldn’t insist on trying to work it all out himself. Lee is right, he really is too stubborn for his own good sometimes.

 

Jin shakes himself, realizing he’s been standing around without doing anything for at least five whole minutes. He could really use a shower, even if today’s session was cut short. Maybe a walk around the grounds would help to clear his head...? Yes. That’s a good idea. Shower first, then the garden. Pleased with his decision-making, Jin gathers his gear and sets off.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Jin feels much better, donning a clean pair of what Lee has affectionately dubbed his “casual gi pants” and one of his favorite hoodies. The air outside is pleasantly warm, but that’s to be expected – this is the Bahamas, after all, and its temperature stays fairly steady year-round. It’s a definite contrast to Yakushima, which fluctuated according to the season and could get quite brutal in both directions. Jin doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get used to not having a winter, but the upside to that is the size and splendor of the garden, which is full of greenery that could never grow so well otherwise.

 

The garden is his favorite place on the manor grounds. It has been since the day he’d first arrived here, nervous and overwhelmed and very, very homesick. He’d been thankful for the expanse of greenery at the time, and despite the unfamiliarity of much of the flora species present, he’d finally found himself at peace since leaving Yakushima. Even in his current state of inexplicable unease and negativity, the space still brings him a sense of tranquility that no other area of the house permits him.

 

The path he walks now is a familiar one – the first time, he had wandered for a while, studying the layout and searching for some place that was good to linger in. He’d mostly followed the artificial stream that decorates the garden, curious about the route it took. It was these earlier explorations that had led him to his favorite place, and since then, he has always returned here without fail.

 

Ducking through a somewhat overgrown trellis tunnel, Jin approaches a small, wooden footbridge. Low and plain, it extends over the ever-present stream, connecting the path to another, more isolated space of the garden that Jin now knows to be a landscaped island. He had determined as much for himself back in his first few days here, wandering about the smaller area’s perimeter to find where the sloping edges met the water.

 

He’s always wanted to ask Lee about this place. It’s clearly of his design, just like everything else around here, but it has always seemed so...strangely personal in comparison. Lee is a lot of things, but sentimental has never seemed to be one of them. Most choices he makes are either for business or for entertainment, not necessarily because of...personal things. To take the time to make this place...well. It’s just another one of Jin’s many, many unanswered and unasked questions about his enigmatic guardian.

 

The whole space is decorated with clusters of white and yellow flowers, lilies and marigolds and tulips and a few that Jin still doesn’t know the names of. Knowing Lee, the arrangement of flora probably has some deeper meaning, but that’s neither Jin’s business nor his prerogative. Closer to the bridge, there’s a small gazebo, the roof and columns of which are covered in flowering vines and hanging lavender.

 

As always, Jin lingers here for an extra moment or two, sitting on one of the benches and line the interior. He closes his eyes, composing himself – he always tries to leave his thoughts behind at this point. The placement of the gazebo makes it feel like a gateway of sorts, a secret entrance that opens into something sacred. It just doesn’t feel right to carry his personal burdens into such a place, and even if it did, that wouldn’t be the point. Jin comes here to stop thinking. Heaven knows he needs that more than anything right now.

 

So he tries to put it all out of his mind. His frustrations with his own shortcomings, persistent and recurring as they are – his concerns about Lee, the endless rain of curiosities and unknown variables that exist between them to this day. The struggle to get stronger, the continuous fight to convince Lee that he can take it. The lingering fear that, no matter what they do, they’ll never find Toshin. The hard knot of predetermined disappointment that, even after all of this, it won’t be enough.

 

_It has to be enough._

 

After a minute or so, Jin rises, stepping through the other side of the structure. From there, the path extends into a small ring of sheltering trees, each one patterned with smaller collections of yellow and white chrysanthemums. At the center of the circle rests a small stone pillar, its dark, polished surface dimly reflecting the greenery surrounding it. Jin moves silently between the branches, kneels before the stone, and remembers.

 

He’d been somewhat surprised to see the pillar the first time. There are no distinguishable marks upon it, although it is clearly memorial in nature, given the presence of chrysanthemums and the general landscaping of the entire area. Despite its anomalous presence in a place otherwise devoid of intimate touches, Jin likes it. Sometimes, he comes here to pray to his mother. Other times, especially when he’d first arrived, he simply reflects upon everything that had come to pass.

 

...how strange it is to think that he’s been here for four years now. It seems like just yesterday that he’d lost everything he’d ever known; it seems like just yesterday that, in a strange twist of fate, he’d been diverted from the task his mother had placed upon him. Meeting Lee had been completely up to chance, and yet it had happened, and now he’s here. He doubts that she would be all that pleased with his new goal of choice, but. That’s not why he’s doing this.

 

He is nineteen years old. When the time comes to take on the monster that killed his mother, he’ll be ready.

 


	2. Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now is the winter of our discontent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few will probably come out a little faster than the intended publication timeframe just to get the ball rolling better, provided that university doesn't take me out first. Happy reading, and have a wonderful day!

Training is a funny thing.

 

On one hand, it’s Jin’s primary purpose for being here. It’s why he persists day to day, why he practices and learns and takes care of himself the way he does. Sure, he devotes a lot of time to the lessons Lee provides and his studies, but training takes precedence. No one can say that it isn’t the focus of his life and his work, to the point that Lee has even mentioned (gently, mind you) that while discipline is an admirable quality, it is possible to push it too far. Jin knows that he has a tendency to hyper-fixate on things (another trait acknowledged by Lee, this one a little less teasingly and a lot more deliberately), but training is important.

 

Training is also not exempt from the usual bullshit in Jin’s life. As Lee likes to say, for someone who likes to fight, he sure does think an awful lot.

 

Translation: if Jin gets kicked in the face, it’s because he isn’t paying attention.

 

“Oh, shit!”

 

The world spins and blurs, teetering violently to the left, and Jin has the vaguest sensation of going down before Lee is keeping him from hitting the mat. Careful fingers check the base of his skull and the back of his neck before feeling along his jaw, searching for anything out of place. Jin hears more than sees Lee’s sigh of relief before the older man is taking his chin in hand and tilting his head up.

 

“Look up for me, please.” Lee says efficiently, and Jin does his best to obey. _Up is this way, right?_ “Good enough.” _Oh_. “You probably don’t have a concussion, but gracious, child, it would do you some good to pay attention, don’t you think?”

 

Jin feels his face flush with shame, his vision coming back just in time to catch the real worry in Lee’s eyes. _Oh_. His face is marred by an expression of dissatisfaction and concentration. It’s such a perfect picture of what Jin seems to be best at nowadays: concerning his guardian needlessly while simultaneously being a huge disappointment to both of them.

 

“Yes, sir.” Jin mumbles, and Lee clicks his tongue.

 

“We’ve been over that one, sweetheart.”

 

Jin mentally knocks himself over the head, beyond fed-up with his performance for today. He already knows better than to call his guardian “sir” – not for any other reason than the fact that it evidently makes him feel old, but _still_. He’s been taking care of Jin for the last four years, the absolute least he could do is get that right. The seemingly ingrained urge to use proper honorifics is a habit formed over fifteen years, so undoing it has been difficult, especially when one can be as...absentminded as he is.

 

“Right. Sorry. For everything.” Jin clarifies hurriedly. Lee shakes his head, smoothing Jin’s bangs back from his forehead and leaning down to peer more closely into his eyes.

 

“Hush.” It’s teasing, but he still means it. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

He taps the end of Jin’s nose with his finger before standing, laughing at the younger man’s disgruntled expression and offering him a hand up.

 

“Should we stop...?” Lee starts, but Jin shakes his head as he’s pulled to his feet.

 

“No.” He says firmly. “I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Lee asks, looking skeptical. “You’re rather...distracted. I would hate for something more serious to happen while your head is otherwise occupied.”

 

“I’m fine.” Jin repeats, and his guardian must catch onto some of his insistence because he backs off, acquiescing to Jin’s demands with little more than a raised eyebrow.

 

“I want to see your katas, then. Show me those new techniques I taught you the other day.”

 

Now, _that_ is something Jin can do.

 

He’s been training with Lee since he arrived here, and not once has it ever been boring. The man is a veritable encyclopedia of fighting styles and the general practice of hand-to-hand combat, and there isn’t a single technical issue that he can’t think through. Whatever Lee doesn’t know off the top of his head is still accessible knowledge, carefully documented in stacks of books, tapes, and every audiovisual resource available, current or outdated. He’s clever, innovative, and brilliant, and Jin couldn’t possibly ask for a better teacher.

 

Lee has his own style of fighting, one that he’s been developing since before Jin knew him. It’s an impressive combination of traditional Chinese and Japanese martial arts and scrapper skills mixed with a few sprinkles of whatever happens to catch his fancy, all rounded off by some techniques that are entirely unique to him. His unorthodox, manipulative way of fighting is worth noting on its own, but when combined with his speed, quick-thinking, and razor-sharp instincts, Lee becomes a veritable force of nature. A small storm, a whirlwind, a silver blur at the edges of Jin’s vision, always within sight but rarely within reach.

 

Despite this, Lee had not passed his techniques onto Jin. He’d seemed to know almost instantly what sort of fighting style he wanted to teach him when Jin had expressed an interest in getting stronger, and what a style it is. It’s perfect for his ambitions, all firm stances and brutal fluidity and sheer power. It feels natural on an instinctive level, like Jin has always been meant to fight this way. When Lee had told him years ago that it was a family fighting style, a set of secret techniques passed exclusively down the primary bloodline, he had initially felt a little guilty, but that hesitance has long-since passed. At Lee’s encouragement and with his advice, Jin has made the set his own, even adding a few Kazama-style twists for good measure.

 

Best of all is Jin’s assuredness that, even if he isn’t as strong as he needs to be, he’s still a highly competent fighter. He knows that Lee is world-class, even if that’s never been confirmed, and Jin has managed to best him on enough occasions. In addition, Lee has coached him through dealing with a variety of other fighting styles using his fabulous talent for mimicry. It’s not quite the real thing, but it’s close enough for practice, and what can’t be replicated in training can be observed via Lee’s fighting database. Add to that the tactics sessions they frequently engage in and Lee’s own stamp of approval regarding his natural talent, Jin feels well-prepared for whatever comes his way despite his relative isolation for the last few years.

 

Jin lets that self-satisfaction color his emotional state, using the momentary surge of positive emotions to help him focus. He’s been practicing these techniques. He knows he can use them for combat already, let alone for a demonstration. Breathe like his mother taught him, execute like Lee – smooth transitions, one move flowing right into the next without pause, never leaving any room for an opening. It’s cathartic, therapeutic, a temporary balm on the uncertainties that have plagued him so relentlessly as of late.

 

Through all of this, Jin’s peripheral senses remain highly attuned to Lee, always anticipating potential responses from the man. Lee’s usual way of alerting Jin to mistakes is a click of the tongue, which almost seems to be a habit rather than a conscious choice on his part, but Jin doesn’t mind it. He’s accustomed to the sound by now – it’s sort of Lee’s preferred method of conveying disapproval or the fact that he’s noticed something troubling. Jin has heard him do it at least a million times over the past few years, not just in training, but in general conversation, during lessons, while working, and even while cooking. It’s a very familiar character quirk at this point, and it suits him.

 

Jin has never actually managed to make it through an entire session without hearing the sound at least once, so he’s reasonably surprised when he finishes the set and realizes that Lee has not made a single noise. He turns.

 

“Lee?”

 

His guardian has actually gone a little pale, his eyes unfocused, and worry flares in Jin’s gut almost instantly. Did something happen? Was it that bad that he can’t even speak? Is he injured and is just now realizing it? Jin’s thoughts run wild and he rushes forward, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

As soon as he makes contact, his guardian comes back to himself, his whole body tensing up and his eyes snapping up to Jin’s face. It’s very brief, but what Jin sees in them in the short moment before they fully clear is beyond haunting.

 

“Jin?” Lee asks, seeming almost dazed for a second as he gets his bearings again. “Is something wrong?”

 

Jin drops his hand, wanting to look closer but almost afraid of what else he might see if he does. That instant there...whatever his guardian had been seeing, it almost certainly hadn’t been him.

 

“I’m alright,” Jin says hesitantly. “Are...are you?”

 

“I...” Lee frowns, evidently at a loss for words. That’s more terrifying than it has any right to be. “I’m sorry. It’s just...”

 

“...yes?”

 

Lee shakes his head. “Nothing.” A pause. “You just...ah. I haven’t seen those techniques executed that well since the last time I saw someone use that style. It just...it reminded me, and I guess it was a little overwhelming.”

 

Jin, being no stranger to this sort of thing, decides not to push it anymore. His guardian is clearly shaken by whatever has just transpired inside his memories, and Jin can respect his subsequent need for distance.

 

“Will you be alright?” He asks instead, and after a moment, Lee nods.

 

“Yes, I...I should be just fine.” He says, before adding with a slightly rueful smile, “It would appear we’re both pretty distracted, aren’t we?”

 

Jin supposes he’ll have to concede to that. It’s one thing for him to be unfocused, but if they’re both out of it, training just becomes regular exercise. Even if it keeps them in shape and helps the moves become second-nature, it doesn’t bear much, if any, significance in the regiments they both strive for in their progression as fighters and tacticians. It’s pretty obvious that, no matter what else he does here today, Lee will not be able to help him as much as he usually could.

 

That’s...fine. Really. That’s just...fine.

 

“I think I’ll keep going for a bit.” Jin states, reading into the implied askance for dismissal. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

 

Lee smiles at him, although it doesn’t quite look right. “Of course.”

 

Jin ruminates as Lee gets his gear together, cursing the bad timing of it all. First his recent agitations, now this? Neither of them can afford to be distracted like this, but here they are, brooding and seeing ghosts and getting kicked in the head. It’s embarrassing, that’s what it is, and it only serves to dampen Jin’s mood further.

 

“Lee.”

 

The man in question lifts his head and gives him an inquisitive look. “Yes?”

 

“Any leads on Toshin?”

 

Silence. Jin isn’t looking at him, but he can see the way he shifts slightly, staring down now at the gloves in his hands as he tries to come up with an answer. He’s clearly still off-balance from earlier if Jin can actually detect this much uncertainty, but the matter is of great importance. Lee sighs.

 

“I’m actually tracking a lead right now, funny that you asked. It’s been driving me crazy all week.” He finally says, unusually straightforward, although there’s something in his expression that Jin doesn’t exactly like. “But Jin, you know...are you sure about this?”

 

And there it is.

 

Every time Jin tries to bring up challenging Toshin, Lee pulls _this_ deck of cards. Always asking if he’s certain. Always doubting his convictions. Always implying that maybe, maybe, this is more trouble than it’s worth and he should just give it all up and move on with his life. Normally, Jin is reasonable enough to understand his point of view.

 

Today, though, it just infuriates him.

 

“I will never change my mind.” He says stiffly, shooting Lee a dark look. “Do you think I’m too weak to handle it? Do you think I don’t intend on going through with this? Don't try to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

 

Lee’s eyes widen a fraction. “Jin – ”

 

“No.” Jin shakes his head, turning away. _Control yourself_. He doesn’t have much of a temper, but when it surfaces, it can be frightening. “I don’t want to speak to you right now.”

 

Lee, to his credit, knows all of these things and probably more than Jin wants him to. He does as has been suggested of him, gathering the rest of what he brought with him when this doomed training session started and quietly exiting the room.

 

Jin inhales slowly, then breathes the air out, counting by seconds.

 

_Just. Get on with it._

 

* * *

 

The first thing Lee does upon leaving is go straight for a drink. He tries not to make a habit of this sort of thing, considering how important it is to keep his body in peak condition, but sometimes he just needs a little something to take the edge off of reality. Something distracting, something slightly different – brandy, maybe? Whiskey? _Fuck_. Why does he even have this much alcohol in his house, anyway? It’s not like anyone besides him drinks that stuff. Poor Jin had a ceremonial cup of sake once and almost choked on –

 

 _Ah_. Maybe a drink isn’t such a good idea, after all.

 

Shaking his head, Lee changes direction and proceeds towards his room. Maybe a shower will clear his mind...or a bath? Would that help more? _Gods_ , he doesn’t even know anymore. Jin’s moods as of late have him walking on eggshells around the kid, secretly terrified that he’ll set him off in ways unknowable. He can understand where it’s all coming from – every teenager can be moody as hell sometimes, including himself when he was one – but that doesn’t make it any less...uncanny.

 

This isn’t the first time he’s looked at Jin and seen Kazuya, but _gods_ , it has never been that strong of an association before. First the kata, then the near-argument - it could've easily been a training session from twenty years ago, and he can swear that he's had that exact same conversation with his adopted brother before. The _you shouldn't do this_ and _don't be stupid_ s are loud in his memory, followed (as always) by the quiet assertions of _don't try to tell me what I can and cannot do_. So many years apart and yet there it all is, the same eyes, the same thoughts, the same words.

 

The child is very different, and Lee knows this. He’s gentle, he’s thoughtful, he’s honest to a fault and earnest as they come. He wants to do the right thing. He wants to make Lee proud as well as meet his own standards of perfection. He’s a mess of contradictions, as all people are. Shy yet unyielding, proud yet modest. Polite, kind, and cautious even as he is blunt, angry, and fearless. He’s a product of the (undoubtedly) carefree and easygoing childhood that was so cruelly ripped away from him in a freak occurrence that left him with nothing.

 

Nothing, save the hauntingly bizarre instructions to seek and find Heihachi Mishima.

 

Lee can only imagine how different things could have been if that had actually come to pass. Thinking about Jin as he was when he’d first met him (soft, sweet, eager to please and desperately fragile) and trying to envision him under Heihachi’s thumb...the better he’d gotten to know Jin, the more nightmarish the whole thing had become. It has gotten to the point now that he almost can’t stand to even consider the possibility. As it is, though, Jin is here with him now, and there’s no merit in worrying needlessly about alternatives. _Especially_ not when things are...like this.

 

Toshin, of course, is all Heihachi’s fault. The recent announcement of the third King of Iron Fist Tournament? Also Heihachi’s fault. This kind of shit just has his bloodstained fingerprints all over it. Stupid bastard always meddling in things that he couldn’t control...he did it to his own son, and then had the audacity to keep pushing it even after his death. Stupid, selfish, horrible man. His idiocy ruined Jin’s life, and now because the kid has his father’s terrible sense of self-driven purpose, it might even take his life, too. This whole family is a mess of chain reactions and bad decisions, and Lee curses himself for getting involved in all of it again.

 

Because despite his misgivings about all of it, his concern for Jin is genuine. He’s been at this for too long to pretend otherwise. He cares for the kid, adores him, even – how could he not? He’s brought meaning to his life in a way that he never expected. Maybe he’s sheltered him a bit, but if anyone (read: Heihachi) finds out that Jin exists, it would be disastrous. If Jin hears about the tournament, he’ll be sure to go, especially if he catches onto the rumor that Toshin will be drawn there. Lee doesn’t want any of that. He just wants him to have the best of what he has to offer, wants him to enjoy his life and make the most of it. More than anything else, he wants Jin to just be _happy_. Let his demons go, let it all go, just. _Live_.

 

But he _is_ Kazuya Mishima’s son. Perhaps predestination is a thing, after all.

 

Lee shakes his head, scoffing to himself. _Ridiculous_. Jin is his own person, and he can make his own choices. Just because he’s young and somewhat naïve about these sorts of matters doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps. And even if he does in some regards, Lee has already done the same. He won’t think him any less for it, and he certainly won’t stop protecting him. He just...needs to figure out a way to do that without upsetting him.

 

Lee sighs, tangling his fingers in his hair. This really isn’t good. Everything had been fine up until this point, so what’s changed? Can Jin sense Toshin the way his mother probably could? Will his hand be forced? What if something happens while he’s gone on his upcoming business trip? It’s a week and a half, for crying out loud, anything could happen. Maybe he should bring Jin with him...? No. Bad idea. His business sense is atrocious, and besides, he’s not much of a city person. It would be unfair to drag him out without a good explanation, and it would just look suspicious. Gods, the timing on all of this could not _possibly_ be worse.

 

The tournament will commence within a few days’ time. With any luck, they can just lay low until then, and then it’ll be all over.


	3. Driven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
> 
> Hear it not, for it is a knell
> 
> That summons thee to heaven or hell.

Jin comes down for breakfast the next morning with an uneasy sense of shame and a guilty conscience.

 

Lee is already at the table, drinking coffee and perusing his tablet like usual, but he doesn’t greet or even really acknowledge Jin when he enters. His gaze flickers up briefly to register that there’s another body in the room, but that’s...about it.

 

Jin bites his lip. _He’s wondering if I’m still mad at him_. Now he really feels bad. He hadn’t meant to snap like that yesterday, to let his frustrations get the better of him. It’s unfair to the both of them, and he really doesn’t like it when there’s tension in the room. It doesn’t happen often, but Jin is well-aware of how moody he can be sometimes. Lee always lets him have his time, but Jin feels like he’s thought about it enough. Besides, Lee has that business trip coming up, and Jin would hate for him to leave on less-than-cordial terms. If something were to happen while he was gone...well. Jin would never forgive himself.

 

“Lee?” His voice comes out smaller than he intends it to, but it succeeds in catching his guardian’s attention.

 

“Yes?”

 

Jin swallows. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

 

Lee regards him for a few moments, his expression completely unreadable. Jin resists the urge to fidget under his gaze, knowing that the other man is just gauging his intentions and trying to figure out if he has any ulterior motives. He doesn’t, not really, but it’s reasonable to assume that he could.

 

A few seconds later, Lee’s expression softens into something more familiar. “You were worrying about this all night, weren’t you?”

 

“That’s – well – I just. I felt bad.” Jin stammers, and his guardian chuckles quietly.

 

“Relax,” he says, setting down his tablet and resting his arms on the table. “You’re allowed to snap at me. It’s alright.”

 

“I was being unfair,” Jin starts, but Lee shakes his head.

 

“I have a share in this too, you know. I know it frustrates you when I’m not entirely honest or when I question your motives. I’m sorry for subjecting you to that, especially at a time like this.”

 

His words are sincere and Jin can feel it, the genuine remorse for having upset him playing clearly in every syllable. It’s more relieving than it should be, yet Jin allows the lighter emotion carry him forward anyway.

 

“It’s okay.” He says quietly. “I know you worry about me.”

 

Lee tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “Even so, I could’ve handled it better. But I’m glad you’re willing to accept my apology on the matter.”

 

He smiles at him then, small and fond, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the edges and Jin can’t help but smile back. Seeing that expression on his guardian’s face has always meant a lot to him. It’s different from most of Lee’s other faces, the ones that convey only choice elements of what he’s really feeling. This one is very honest in comparison, and the fact that it’s directed at him always makes him feel more at home than a simple expression has any real right to.

 

“I’ll have more information regarding Toshin for you when I get back, okay?” Lee says, referring to his upcoming business trip. “Will you be alright while I’m gone?”

 

Jin nods, perhaps more vigorously than is necessary, because it causes his guardian to laugh slightly.

 

“You know the drill, then. Keep to your studies, be careful during training, don’t leave the compound,” Lee ticks off, giving Jin a meaningful look. “Especially not that last one, alright?”

 

“Of course.” Jin promises. Honestly, where would he even go? Lee is reasonable enough not to monitor his every move, but it isn’t as though Jin is itching to get off the island. There’s a time and place for that, and he’s not quite there yet.

 

Lee eyes him for a moment longer before picking his tablet up again, seemingly satisfied.

 

“Good. Eat something light for breakfast – I want to get in at least a warm-up session with you today before I get stuck in all these preliminary conferences. You can do as you please after that.”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Jin...”

 

“Ah. Not sir. Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Jin spends that night in Lee’s room, making up for lost sleep and lost time. He isn’t initially planning on doing so, but he spends the whole of his evening shower thinking of how tired Lee seemed today, how much he was pushing himself to keep up with everything. He can’t help but wonder how long it has been since his guardian got a decent night’s sleep – although Jin is most well-known restless sleeper in the house, Lee’s nighttime habits aren’t exactly the greatest. Jin knows that his guardian suffers from many unnamed and highly secretive demons, ones that have been preventing him from sleeping well at night since before Jin ever came here. On top of all that, the man is also somewhat prone to awful stress headaches. Jin has been living with him long enough to know when he isn’t feeling well, so he takes it upon himself to help as best as he can.

 

Jin has a genuine liking for Lee’s bedroom, he really does. He hadn’t been sure about it at first, its seeming sterility nothing like what he remembered of his mother’s safe and comfortable bedroom back home, but enough good things have since transpired there for Jin to change his mind. He likes the mellow lighting and the spacious layout and all the secret rooms that are attached to it. The color scheme is nice, too, muted and warm despite giving off the impression that no one really uses this place.

 

Lee is using it now, though, and he glances up from what he’s working on when Jin taps on the doorframe.

 

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, voice soft. When Jin nods, he smiles, gentle and affectionate, and pats the bed space beside him. “Come on, then. There’s plenty of room.”

 

And that there is. Jin had been a little frightened to see a mattress bigger than the size of his entire bedroom back in Yakushima the first time he’d been in here, but he’s gotten used to it since then. Hell, even the mattress in his bedroom now is bigger than that, although it isn’t as large as Lee’s is. Jin doesn’t really know why he needs that much space, but he isn’t going to bring it up right now.

 

He doesn’t need much more prompting than that, not anymore. He used to be far more hesitant about these sorts of things, but now he just snuggles right in, settling down at Lee’s side like it’s the most instinctive thing in the world. In a way, it kind of is. It’s nice. Lee accommodates for him like it’s second nature, too, shifting slightly so Jin can rest his head on his lap. He’s looking over some files – last-minute paperwork, probably – but he seems more than happy to put them aside in favor of stroking Jin’s hair.

 

Jin sighs contentedly and shuts his eyes, pushing his head into his guardian’s touch and making him laugh. He loves having his hair pet, always has – his mother used to do it on rainy nights and when he was younger, and it consistently makes him feel safe to this day. Lee does it even more often than his mother would, reaching out and idly running his fingers through Jin’s hair anytime they’re close together or passing by. Sometimes it’s a pat on the head, sometimes it’s a ruffle, sometimes (most times) it’s like this: slow, careful, comforting. Meticulous. Capable of easing the tension right out of both of them with every movement.

 

If either of them had the time for it, they would gladly remain this way for hours. At least, Jin knows he would. He isn’t sure about Lee, but he appears to like this very much. He certainly never complains about it or belittles Jin for needing so much emotional support, and for that, Jin is infinitely grateful. It’s so much easier to just stay here in the warmth and the quiet when he knows that he can take all the time that he needs, so he does.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone?” Lee asks eventually, idly playing with Jin’s bangs. He sounds subdued, so Jin knows how serious he’s being: he’s worried, and rightfully so. He should at least attempt to comfort him.

 

“I promise.” Jin assures him, opening his eyes to look up at him. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

 

“Too late,” Lee teases lightly, but he means it. Jin understands, because he would mean it, too. “But I trust you.”

 

Jin smiles. “Thank you.”

 

Lee’s expression softens, the tension melting from it just like that. “Let’s see if I can’t get you to sleep, then, hm, little one?”

 

Jin settles into it, smiling to himself as Lee returns to stroking his hair. _Let’s see if I can’t get you to sleep, too._

 

* * *

 

Lee departs two days later, leaving Jin with some more advice and a light kiss to the forehead, which is fairly customary for him. He always frets incessantly over Jin whenever he leaves, which remains funny and oddly endearing despite the fact that Jin is now nineteen years old and has gotten rather accustomed to Lee’s busy schedule. Jin does appreciate how much he worries.

 

What isn’t customary is how...stressed Lee seems to be. He’s unnaturally frazzled on his way out, almost forgetting a very important piece of external hardware and an entire statistics portfolio, two things that he only noticed were missing because he couldn’t remember if he’d packed the right laptop. Now that he’s gone, Jin really has the chance to think over it, and something just doesn’t seem...right.

 

In fact, he thinks about it for the whole day, so much so that training is more or less useless and his language studies are spent fiddling aimlessly with his pen instead of practicing his hangul characters. It weighs on him all throughout dinner, and he even ends up shampooing his hair twice because of how distracted he is. _Gods_. Lee likes to tease him about how much he gets stuck inside his own head, but he’s right. It is possible to be too thoughtful. Is he even going to be able to sleep?

 

What could he have possibly been so out of sorts about? Certainly not anything work-related – Lee’s approach to business is so casual that it borders on being lazy despite the fact that he takes it so seriously. It couldn’t have been the flight – Jin’s the one who isn’t a fan of planes around here, not Lee. Maybe he doesn’t like doing business in the United States? That wouldn’t make any sense, seeing as that’s where most of his work is based. It’s Japan that he prefers to avoid.

 

Maybe he’s been more worried than usual about leaving him? He has been acting strange lately, and Lee knows that he’s been having nightmares. He did make quite a point about Jin not hesitating to call if he ever needed him.

 

Jin groans aloud, rolling over onto his back and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. _This is ridiculous_. He really can’t sleep like this, no surprise there. He certainly isn’t going to call Lee, though – that would just be selfish of him. No matter what he said about contacting him, Jin can’t do that to him right now. He has enough on his plate already without trying to talk his nineteen year-old pseudo-child into calming down.

 

Maybe he could just...sleep in Lee’s bed tonight instead?

 

It’s a tempting thought. It’ll definitely be different without his guardian there, but maybe just being in his bed will be enough of a positive association that he’ll calm down. His mattress is comfortable, and the sheets are very soft...Jin can bring one of his textbooks and read for a bit if he needs to. It’s not the perfect solution, but it’s the best one he has at the moment. It’ll do for now, won’t it?

 

Decision made, Jin grabs the first book he sees and heads for Lee’s room. Down the hall, through the lounge, up the stairs – it’s a well-worn path by now, in a way, even though it doesn’t look it. It’s just another habit that Jin has formed over the years: his room, Lee’s room, the training room. Kitchen, garden, garage. Even the urge to knock on Lee’s door frame is hard to shake, considering that Lee isn’t even here right now.

 

Jin snuggles down between some pillows, positioning himself next to the nightstand so he doesn’t have to fight to turn the lamp off. This is usually Lee’s spot – Jin tends to either be propped up against him or lying alongside him, his head in his guardian’s lap as Lee strokes his hair and reads aloud to him in some foreign language. They’re all very peaceful recollections, and Jin slowly exhales, feeling some of the tension bleeding out of him already.

 

Sleeping will have to wait, though, at least for now. He tucks into his book of choice, immersing himself in the intertwined military histories of Korea and Japan as much as he can manage given his current state, memorizing names and cities and eras until the rest of his thoughts fade to fuzzy memories. He begins to relax, surrounded by warmth and familiarity and the distant echo of being cared for so gently in this very place.

 

When he eventually starts to feel drowsy, Jin opts to put his book in the nightstand drawer rather than on top of it, seeing as there isn’t too much room left on there after the lamp and the clock. However, when he opens it, he notices that the panel concealing the hidden compartment beneath it hasn’t been replaced correctly, revealing some of what’s underneath. Toshin’s glowing eyes stare back at him, muted in black and white but recognizable all the same.

 

Jin reels backwards, dropping his textbook and barely managing not to cry out at the surge of alarm that practically rips through him at the sight of the monster that has haunted his dreams for four years straight. What the hell is a photograph of Toshin doing in Lee’s nightstand?

 

Upon removing the panel, Jin sees that the picture is paperclippped to another page and some additional photos, which he quickly retrieves from the compartment. He quickly gets rid of the first picture, balling it up and tossing it across the room. He doesn’t need that, and he doesn’t want to see it. The rest of it is what’s important, probably, although how this terrifying old man with the unfortunate balding pattern fits into all of this, he isn’t yet sure.

 

Jin frowns, studying the page of information intently. _King of Iron First Tournament...?_ What the heck is that? _Hosted by the CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu, Heihachi Mishima..._ Jin’s eyes widen. Oh. _Oh_. That old man in the picture is Heihachi Mishima. His grandfather, supposedly. The person his mother had told him to find if anything ever happened to her. The person that Lee, when he’d met him, had flat-out told him to never associate with. They don’t speak much of what had transpired between them during that first meeting, but Jin has never been able to forget the brief flash of fear in his now-guardian’s eyes at the mere mention of Heihachi Mishima’s name.

 

The more Jin reads, the more it all comes together. According to the data that Lee has put together here, Heihachi Mishima is the one who raised Toshin, and is therefore the one to blame for the subsequent murders that the monster committed. The hypothesized purpose of the third tournament that’s being hosted is to draw Toshin to Japan so it can be destroyed (although in pen, Lee has scribbled a harsh note of “So Heihachi can harness its power” as an additional possibility). Whatever the reasoning, this tournament is happening, and Toshin might be there.

 

If Toshin might be there, Jin is _definitely_ going to be there.

 

He checks the date listed on the page, eyes widening in alarm. That’s tomorrow! It’s a thirteen hour flight from here to Japan, which is nothing to sneeze at. He’ll have to move fast if he wants to account for the time differences, and Jin throws a frantic glance at the clock. 10:23...if he can leave within the next hour, he should make it there with enough time to spare before check-in ends. He can plan a flight with the staff and then pack in that amount of time, right?

 

Jin practically scrambles out of Lee’s bed, not even bothering to straighten out the sheets or pillows. Lee will notice that he’s gone by far more significant means than an untidy bed. His hands are shaking as he switches off the lamp, and it’s strange how much adrenaline this whole situation has put into his system. Still, it’s justified. If this is his chance, he’s going to take it. He has to. Isn’t this why he’s still here?

 

_...isn’t it?_

 

Jin hesitates then, faltering on his way out of the room. Despite avenging his mother being a large source of his motivation, it’s equally true to say that he pursued his training simply because he desired to. Fighting is in his blood, and it was only nurtured in these past four years, tempered and honed and given a proper outlet with a steady hand and careful guidance. He’s only learned as much as he has because he wanted to...he’s only gotten as far as he has because he loved it.

 

And in the midst of that, in the middle of all the soul-searching and changing and whatever the hell else he’d endured in the last four years of his life, Lee had been there. Lee, with his striking silver hair and unchanging appearance. Lee, with his quirks and catchphrases and teasing mannerisms. Lee, with all of his close-kept secrets. Lee, with his steady hands and pleasant voice and his uncanny ability to pull Jin from his panic attacks. Lee, with his patience and his kindness. Lee, with that little smile that makes Jin feel loved and cared for.

 

Doing this is unfair, Jin knows that. Lee has done more than just trained him at this point, and betraying his trust this way is just...wrong. He’s not the most trusting of people to begin with – Jin had seen that in his eyes the moment they’d met, those depthless, expressive eyes that had somehow witnessed more than Jin could even fathom. To do this now, after all these years of bonding and training and becoming someone Jin could rely on...if he does this, is that it? Is he severing his ties with this man who, while perhaps not entirely selfless in his initial intentions, still gave him as much as he had to offer?

 

_Is this goodbye?_

 

He thinks of his mother, and everything she had ever given him. Lee had never tried to take her place, but in many ways, he had fulfilled the same role that she once had. When Jin had lost her, he’d been devastated, and the wound still bleeds to this very day. If something were to happen to Lee...gods forbid, if Toshin somehow found him, too...that’s something he cannot allow. This isn’t just for his mother, or even for him – this is for Lee, too, and everything that he’s given him. If saying goodbye is what it takes to keep him safe...then so be it.

 

Decision made, Jin makes his way to the door. He has a trip to plan.

 


	4. Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The better part of valor is discretion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent a lot of time listening to "Straight to My Head" by You Me at Six, "I Feel Alive" by IMRI, and "Strangers" by Sigrid while I wrote this chapter and the next few upcoming ones. They’re good songs! You should check them out~
> 
> I'm posting a lot faster than I thought I would, but I keep getting excited. Fingers crossed that I can keep up the pace!

Jin enters the tournament under the pseudonym Kouyuu Endo, something familiar enough that he’ll respond to if needed, yet common enough in the vernacular that it won’t seem too strange. He’s never used it before (and has never had the need), but it’s a derivative off of the fake name that Lee was using when they’d first met: Katsuya Endo. The man has had many more since then, but that one remains strong in Jin’s memory due to its paramount importance in his own life.

 

 _Lee_. Jin winces internally at the sinking feeling in his gut that comes whenever he thinks about his guardian. Since he left last night, he’s been making a valiant effort to keep the guilt at bay, but it hasn’t been easy. Lee really won’t be happy when he finds out about this...Jin can only hope that he’ll be willing to listen instead of just kicking him out immediately for his breach of trust. Such an adverse reaction doesn’t _really_ seem in-character for him, but then again, Jin has never pushed him this far before. He’s deep in uncharted territory here, both metaphorically and literally.

 

This place is...much different than Jin had thought it would be. He hadn’t considered it too much during the ride here, worried as he was about more important things, but he’d certainly imagined something a little more...grounded. Professional, maybe, like Lee’s old training tapes. He’s seen a few tournaments on TV before, and none of them have been anything like this.

 

To put things in perspective, the hotel that the contestants will be staying at was evidently built solely for that purpose, which is just. Absurd. Jin can hardly even fathom the thought process behind that, the idea that one (1) man thinks his glorified arm-wrestling contest needs to have an entire hotel just for a tournament that won’t even last the month. Add to that the fact that an entirely brand-new venue was constructed (again) just for the tournament, and Jin feels like he has a pretty solid picture of Heihachi Mishima’s character. (He already had an inkling, considering that even Lee couldn’t hide his true feelings about the man, but all of this new information is really giving life to the whole matter.)

 

The theatrics are also extremely over the top, more like a wrestling match or an idol competition than a fighting tournament. Fireworks, bright colors, electronic pop music – it has been a wild ride of visual stimulation since Jin arrived here, even though all that’s really happening right now is check-in. Even the pen that the receptionist provided Jin with to fill in his registration form is flashy (literally), oversized and...decorated with small, cartoonishly-rendered images of Heihachi Mishima’s face. _Gods_. What the hell is this?

 

There are also reporters everywhere, which is a huge problem. Jin hasn’t put his hood down once yet today, hiding under its shadow and relative safety for the time being. He’s glad he chose his black and white ensemble rather than his usual black and red, although he knows perfectly well that either one will be extremely obvious to Lee if he should happen to be keeping tabs on this tournament. Knowing him, he definitely is. _Ggggghhh_. He’s an idiot, but at least he’s here. Even if this ends horribly, he can still say that he tried.

 

Scanning over his entrance form one last time, Jin stands and heads over to the lobby’s front desks, stepping around groups of people and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, there are quite a few...characters present already, many of which are claiming most of the spotlight, so Jin is able to stay mostly undetected as he submits his registration. With any luck, that sort of protection will remain for the tournament’s duration.

 

Someone to his left doesn’t seem to have the same reservations, though, because he is being _very_ loud. The woman signing him in keeps shooting dirty looks in that direction, but Jin tries not to seem affected by the display. He almost succeeds, too, until a particularly bad Korean swear word uttered at an extremely high volume causes him to glance over in surprise.

 

_...wow._

 

He’s so...bright. The auburn shade of his hair is a brilliant contrast to the dark green of his form-fitting shirt, and his tight jeans are accentuated by (if it’s even possible) tighter-fitting belted leather chaps. The presence of gloves, goggles, and steel-capped boots are kind of all second to these realizations. One look is all it takes to hazard a guess at his personality, even if he hadn’t been talking when Jin had first seen him. As it is, though, he _is_ talking, gesturing defiantly and whipping out words so quickly that Jin almost can’t keep up despite being familiar with the language he’s speaking. He hasn’t heard this many curses in his entire life.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that it’s a language issue – the contestant is flipping back and forth between violently fast Korean and accented Japanese, pointing angrily at the entrance form every few moments. The aggressively animated display reminds him of Lee when he’s on the phone with a foreign business contractor who clearly isn’t performing up to par, although his guardian definitely swears a lot less...creatively. Lee prefers to maintain some semblance of dignity. This guy...clearly doesn’t care.

 

Jin wraps up his registration, intending to take his room key and backpack and go straight to his hotel room, but something stops him from actually doing that. He glances over at the altercation again, feeling an internal tug in that direction, and really? Can he _really_ afford to do this? What if the guy just fights him and they both get kicked out? Or, worse still, what if they get thrown in jail?

 

_But what if you can help?_

 

Jin sighs in defeat, already heading in that direction. This is obviously that part of him that was raised by his mother talking. _Mother, if you’re listening, please guide me into saying the right thing._

 

“Excuse me,” Jin says quietly, inserting himself between the warring men. “What seems to be the problem?”

 

Both parties look somewhat wary at the intrusion, although the man handling the entrance forms seems relieved at Jin’s polite, fluent Japanese.

 

“The “contestant” is requesting English admission forms, which we don’t have out yet.” He says, shooting the younger man a dirty look. “I keep telling him to wait, but he’s very insistent.”

 

“My apologies for not being able to read fucking Japanese,” the contestant snarls, and Jin raises his eyebrows. “Pretty sure there are more people here who would benefit from a damn English form rather than a Japanese one, or are you just that dumb?”

 

“I don’t make the rules – that’s the boss’ domain.” The man says primly. The redhead glowers dangerously.

 

“Oh, yeah? Well, you can tell your boss that – ”

 

“Wait.” Jin takes the form and gives the contestant and sideways glance, switching to Korean in hopes of cutting him off before the tirade gets too explicit. “Let me help you.”

 

The dubious eyebrow raise he gets in return for his offer is almost as impressive as one of Lee’s, which is really saying something.

 

“You serious?”

 

Jin nods, gesturing to one of the empty tables nearby. The redhead scrutinizes him for a moment more, then sighs and shrugs, his defensive posture deflating somewhat.

 

“Alright, sure. Whatever.”

 

Jin has to bite back a sigh of relief at his acquiescence, having been certain for a second or two there that they were going to have to fight. This guy seems pretty wound up, probably not the kind of person that Jin would ever mess with on his own volition; a little voice in his head (that sounds suspiciously like Lee) warns him that he’s probably a street fighter, accustomed to the rigor of fighting without limits. It’s a reasonable assumption to make, yet Jin can’t help but think that maybe there’s a little more to him than that. He supposes he may find out.

 

They get settled, Jin laying out the entrance forms on the table so they can be seen clearly by both him and the other man. Even if he can’t read Japanese, it’s still a gesture he feels like making. Business may not have been his best subject in tutoring, but he did learn a few things about common civility in a professional setting.

 

“Name?” Jin asks, suddenly feeling very nervous about this whole arrangement. The look that the other fighter gives him reflects that emotion, albeit with a bit more residual belligerence.

 

“Hwoarang.” He says, eyeing Jin as though trying to gauge his intentions. It’s a pretty intimidating glance. “It’s spelled like this. See?”

 

His gloves are worn, but not carelessly kept. Well-loved, probably, much like Jin’s own. The metal studs are familiar, and they reflect the light overhead as his hand moves across the spare page when he writes his name.

 

“Yes, thank you.” Jin dutifully translates the bold hangul characters into his native language, aware of the way that the redhead’s gaze sharpens on his writing. “Ah. Age, sex, nationality?”

 

“Nineteen, male, South Korean.” The other – Hwoarang – ticks them off one by one. His Korean sounds nice when he’s not swearing up a storm. Jin hasn’t heard it spoken in person before outside of Lee and the old listening tapes, and there’s something about the casual nature of it that makes it feel more real. Breathable. Authentic.

 

“I see.” Jin considers something for a moment, then adds somewhat shyly, “I’m nineteen, too. Japan. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

It’s a small admission, hardly anything special, but it does have a positive effect on the tense atmosphere between them. Hwoarang seems to ease off the caginess at the reveal and in response to Jin’s delivery, even quirking a teasing little grin at him, although it’s still too challenging to be entirely friendly.

 

“Oh, yeah?” He seems to remember himself after a moment and looks away, rubbing the back of his head. “What else is on there?”

 

It gets easier after that, and they roll through the content of the admission form with only a few hiccups. Jin forgets how to say a few of the categories in Korean, resulting in some vaguely humorous confusion as he fumbles around for words he doesn’t know, but in the end it actually does more good than harm. Hwoarang no longer seems to think that Jin is here to make fun of him, and Jin is glad that his intentions came across the right way.

 

“Boy, do I owe you one,” Hwoarang says, standing up and taking the paper when Jin offers it to him. “I can speak that shit alright, but I learned by listening. Writing it is a completely different story.”

 

“It was no trouble at all.”

 

“Anyway. Thanks...” Hwoarang trails off, then looks at Jin in expectant confusion. “Eh. What’s your name, anyway?”

 

“Jin Kazama,” he says with a little smile. “I was happy to help.”

 

“Right.” Hwoarang grins at him, brighter and more easygoing than before, before turning and walking away to submit his admission form.

 

It isn’t until Jin is in the privacy of his own hotel room that he realizes that he’d given Hwoarang his real name by accident.

 

* * *

 

 Jin decides pretty quickly that opening ceremonies are not for him.

 

For starters, there are just... _so many people here_. The volume is intense because of it, a dull roar of sound from one indistinct conversation to the next. Contestants mingle and explore, flitting from group to group, some of them obviously catching up with familiar faces while others are clearly getting themselves acquainted for the first time. Some people are big-name fighters, as evidenced by the small crowds they attract, and others still are wild cards, making a point of trying to get their names known already.

 

Then there are the loners, like himself. Jin lingers in a quieter place, mostly unseen under some overhanging bleachers as he observes the semi-controlled chaos unfolding around him. Thankfully, most of the reporters are no longer present, and filming is instead being handled by employees of the Zaibatsu themselves. Jin had mentioned on his entrance form that he didn’t want too much media coverage, but he has a sneaking suspicion that that sort of thing won’t really have an effect on how much he finds the camera on himself. The best thing to do for now is to keep to himself and keep his face hidden. Maybe he should get a bandanna...but wouldn’t that look ridiculous? He has a pair of sunglasses with him, but that feels silly, too. Maybe he should’ve brought a face mask, like a superhero. It sounds stupid, but there are some pretty weird-looking people here already – he would probably blend right in.

 

He’s still debating the logistics of this when he hears a familiar voice calling out to him, somehow making itself known over the din.

 

“Kazama!”

 

He turns on instinct, then panics momentarily, only realizing after the fact that he should be doing a little better with the whole “not associating with his birth name” thing. He can practically hear Lee chastising him for his absentmindedness already.

 

It’s Hwoarang who addressed him, of course, and he makes his way over to his halfway-hiding place when he catches Jin’s eye. He looks pretty at home here amongst the cacophony, much more so than Jin feels – maybe he’s from the city? That would certainly go a long way in explaining how he’s allowed to dress like that in public.

 

“Hello,” Jin greets him formally in Korean upon his approach, which makes Hwoarang snort.

 

“Take it easy, there. I’m not your master or anything.” He says, practically teasing, and Jin feels his face heat up at the tone. There’s something about it, something different that surpasses even Lee’s playful lilt when he’s teaching Jin foreign swear words – it’s very mischievous in nature, almost how he might imagine a flirtatious manner to be.

 

“Ah.” Jin rubs the back of his head, sufficiently embarrassed now that he’s had the moment to over-analyze all of that. “My apologies – er, my bad. Um...what’s up?”

 

Hwoarang looks like he’s just barely holding back his laughter at Jin’s attempts of casual speaking, and yeah, this is familiar, too. Street talk has never been his forte. He’s just naturally a formal person, which Lee always found funny during language lessons. He wonders if Hwoarang is going to mention it.

 

“Tell me, what’s a Japanese kid doing speaking Korean as well as you do?” He asks instead, and Jin blinks. Not what he expected, but forward all the same.

 

“Um. I had to learn it for my lessons, although I’m somewhat out of practice.” Jin admits, and Hwoarang shrugs.

 

“Nah, you’re alright. A little on the formal side, like I said, but that’ll get you places.”

 

“Most of my tutors were...well...”

 

“Stuffy old men?” Hwoarang offers, and Jin’s lips twitch, unable to help himself.

 

“You could say that,” he says, thinking of Lee and his perfect Korean. “Some of them might take offense to that, though...”

 

“Who knows?” Hwoarang says with a sly little laugh. “Maybe if I say it fast enough, they won’t be able to understand me.”

 

Jin huffs a laugh in return, uncharacteristically amused by such a joke. He feels better about this already, oddly enough. It feels good to be talking to someone else who’s new to this like he is, and there’s something about him that’s...refreshing. Comforting, in a way. He isn’t really like anyone that Jin has met before, and he likes that. His smile doesn’t hide any secrets, his words don’t hold double meanings and confusing sentiments, and there’s something about the way that he runs his fingers oh-so-casually through his hair that reminds him of Lee – that is, if Lee weren’t so covert. He’s just enough of home to be familiar and just enough of something entirely different to be a new, enjoyable experience.

 

Speaking of new experiences, though...

 

“Um. Listen,” Jin starts, wondering how to say this without sounding too weird. “Earlier, when I told you my name? That was a mistake on my part.”

 

Hwoarang tilts his head in curiosity but says nothing, silently inviting him to continue. Jin takes a deep breath.

 

“I’m...Jin Kazama is not supposed to be here, so I registered for this tournament under a fake identity. Kouyuu Endo. That’s...that’s what people are supposed to call me while I’m here.”

 

“Oh.” Hwoarang’s eyebrows shoot up, but it’s more understanding than out of confusion. “Endo. Alright. So, no more shouting ‘Kazama’ to grab your attention?”

 

“That...would be preferred, yes.” Jin confesses.

 

“Fine by me.” Hwoarang shrugs, seemingly unfazed by the whole thing. “Although, you seem a little new to this whole “fake identity” thing if you’re slipping up this soon.”

 

“To put it lightly.” Jin says weakly, and Hwoarang snorts.

 

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re not an escaped convict or anything.” As he speaks, the redhead looks him up and down, laughing slightly. “Although, with a pretty face like yours, I’m not too sure I care.”

 

Jin blushes, instantly mortified by his own responsiveness to such casual...flirting? Is he flirting with him? Or is that just how he talks to people? Did he maybe misunderstand what he said? Something could’ve been lost in translation that he didn’t catch. Oh, gods...

 

“Oi.” Jin jumps slightly, meeting Hwoarang’s now-concerned gaze. “I was just kidding. Didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jin blurts, and the redhead blinks in surprise. “I think too much. I’m...I’m not all that used to being around a lot of other people yet. And none of them are like you, so. And that’s fine, you’re just really different. I just need to get used to the way you talk.” Jin takes a deep breath, realizing with a dim sense of horror that he’s doing that awful, nervous rambling thing that he does to Lee sometimes when he’s sleep-deprived and trying to lie about being fine. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” Hwoarang says, hands up in a placating gesture. “You’re fine, dude. It’s totally normal to be nervous when you’re out of your element. Just don’t suffocate yourself, alright?”

 

Jin nods, hoping he doesn’t seem too terribly high-strung. This is so unlike him – usually he’s perfectly capable of keeping it together, but between everything that has transpired in the past twenty-four hours, he’s running on fumes and is completely overstimulated. Not to mention Hwoarang and his...attitude and his demeanor are just throwing Jin off left and right with seemingly no effort at all. He’s just met Hwoarang, but he likes him so far, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to during the tournament. He really hopes that he hasn’t just scared him off with his (as Lee affectionately calls them) “hit-or-miss people skills”. Jin doubts that Hwoarang would prefer his brooding side to this one, but really?

 

Hwoarang peers at him for an extra second or two as though checking that he’s really alright before grinning at him, amused and relieved and maybe a little exasperated.

 

“You good now?”

 

Jin nods again. Hwoarang lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

 

Jin almost nods for a third consecutive time before he notices the corner of Hwoarang’s mouth twitching. He frowns, and the twitch gets wider. _Well, then_.

 

“Are you teasing me?” He asks suspiciously, and now Hwoarang laughs outright.

 

“Maybe a little?” He admits, but his good mood is infectious and Jin wants to smile, too. A thought pops into his head, probably from the part of him that’s familiar with Lee’s way of talking, so he decides to go with it.

 

“Was that a question?” He asks lightly, employing the same tone that Lee usually uses in the hopes that he can get his point across. It has its intended effect, and Hwoarang grins brightly.

 

“So there is some sass in you, after all.” He notes, nudging Jin carefully with his shoulder in a playful gesture that almost makes him blush again. _Wow_. “You’re pretty sneaky, you know that?”

 

“I prefer the term ‘mysterious’ myself,” he replies with mock loftiness, fighting back a grin of his own as Hwoarang bursts out laughing again. _Whew_. Jin can’t help but feel relieved as his equilibrium begins to return to him. Looks like he’s better at this than he thought.

 

“Aw, man,” Hwoarang says, still chuckling, “You’re more than you seem, I’ll give you that. How’re your fists? They as surprising as your attitude?”

 

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Jin says boldly, cocking his head slightly in a challenge. Now _this_ he can do. “Tomorrow. I’ll check to make sure you’re not all talk.”

 

“That a threat or a promise, Kaza – er. Endo?” Hwoarang retorts, a new fire in his eyes that Jin quite likes. _Good_. He’s the competitive sort. They’ll get along just fine, then.

 

“That depends on who wins.”

 

“Oh, you’re so on. I’ll catch you after our matches.”

 

Jin smirks slightly, and Hwoarang’s gaze flickers down for a split second before he’s matching the expression, albeit with a bit more fervor. _Huh_.

 

He doesn’t get much time to think on that, though, before a loud boom echoes through the stadium. A quick glance skyward reveals that the fireworks have started up in full force, lighting up the night sky in an animated display of colors, kanji, and...Heihachi Mishima’s face. _Yikes_.

 

Hwoarang nudges him again, motioning with his head to the veritable horde of Zaibatsu employees running around on the stage below. The electronic dance music starts up again, a triumphant fanfare resonates through the air, and the whole atmosphere shifts to one of anticipation and excitement. It’s still way too much, but somehow, it’s just enough.

 

“Kinda flashy, don’t you think?” Hwoarang asks, but he’s laughing and Jin is, too. It feels good.

 

“Absolutely.” He says. “Absolutely.”


	5. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood of youth burns not with such excess 
> 
> As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can add Poli Genova’s “If Love Was a Crime”, Parade of Lights’ “Golden”, and Howard Jones’ “Like to Get to Know You Well” to the previously mentioned song set for this chapter, evidently. Maybe I should make an actual playlist for this fic...?
> 
> I had to really fight this chapter the whole time I was trying to write it, probably because it didn’t exist in the original draft? A lot of the content here was addressed in hindsight during later chapters, but then I decided to actually add it in, and...dkjfwlkjfjnwklrmph
> 
> Anyway, I’m sorry for the delay, and many thanks to all of you for being so patient. Apologies in advance for typos, and I hope it was worth the wait!

 

Jin has always been an early riser, the behavior coming as naturally to him as the sunrise itself. He likes the peaceful quiet of the morning before anyone else is awake, likes to watch the way that the light slowly filters in through his curtains until his whole room is glowing with warmth. An early morning prep session is more cathartic than it has the right to be, and he always looks forward to the slightly softer weather at that time of day.

 

However, when Jin wakes up on this particular morning, that sense of serenity dissipates very quickly. He opens his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, turns his head to behold an unfamiliar room. The sheets are strange against his skin, the mattress nowhere near as firm as he’s accustomed to – even the air conditioning system sounds wildly different, its reasonable whir jarring compared to the sleek hum he’s used to hearing.

 

Sitting up, Jin tries not to panic – almost immediately afterwards, though, his memories click into place. _The tournament_. He relaxes. Of course he’s in a strange place. The hotel lodgings for the contestants differ wildly from his room back home.

 

Jin winces. _Home_. Where he should be right now, and where he most definitely is not. His relief dissipates almost instantly, giving way to a strong sense of shame. _Oof_. He’s really done it this time. Forget all the other things he’s tried that hadn’t ended well, this one really takes the cake. He’s gone and flat-out ditched his guardian.

 

How long will it take for Lee to discover what he’s done? He doesn’t usually have the time to call while he’s on those business trips of his, but on the off-chance that he does, Jin knows that he’ll be very worried when he doesn’t answer. Perhaps the systems at the compound will have tipped him off early? Jin did his best to circumvent all of that, but he’s well-aware that there are many things he could’ve missed. _Damn_. He really didn’t think this through, did he?

 

But he’s already done it, so there’s no point in moping about his bad decisions now. He’s here, he’s ready, and he may as well make the most of the time that he’s been given. He’s been training all of these years for _something_. The circumstances are less than ideal, but that shouldn’t stop him. Not when he’s so close.

 

Right?

 

Jin groans aloud, flopping back against the mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes. _There’s my guilty conscience, at it again_. Lee had always commented on that particular personality trait, on the potential dichotomy between his unshakable sense of duty and his merciless self-reproach. He’d reminded him that it could be hard to do the things you needed to, especially when they might have dangerous or painful consequences. If he felt bad after doing something like that, he couldn’t just wallow in it – he’d have to be active about it. He’d have to seek redemption in some way, and then accept that doing something was enough.

 

It had been one of those things that Lee spoke about with a strange look in his eyes, one of those matters that he’d made a point of addressing time and time again. Stuff like that came up every once in a while, but it was always noticeable when they did. Jin became apt at recognizing the patterns and always made an honest effort to take his guardian’s words to heart, even if it wasn’t always easy to apply. He supposes that it’s good that he at least tried, seeing as that’s exactly what he’ll be doing now for quite some time.

 

 _Well. Let’s go, then_. No better time to get started than right now.

 

* * *

 

The grounds are surprisingly quiet, even with the sheer manpower that must be required to run an event and venue of this scale. Jin doesn’t encounter all that many people on his way to check the match board, and the ones he does see are all obviously Zaibatsu employees. Maybe he’ll see more people once he gets to the common areas...? A part of him honestly hopes not. Surely everyone has their own routines that they like to stick to, routines that ideally involve studious isolation. Jin himself prefers that sort of tactic, but he’d foregone checking the lineups last night in favor of beating the crowds back to his hotel room. The privacy had been worth it, even if he’d had to say goodbye to Hwoarang sooner than he would’ve liked.

 

Just the thought of the other fighter lifts his spirits, with his bright hair and brilliant smile. He’s intriguing, different than what Jin is used to – he finds himself drawn in, wondering how he thinks and what he gets up to. If he likes what he finds, maybe they could spend more together? Maybe they could...be friends? It’s an exciting prospect, not that Jin should be thinking about something like that at a time like this. He has a job to do, after all.

 

 _Don’t get caught up in that one-track mind of yours_ , chides the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Lee’s. _It’s dangerous. Let him reach out to you – it’ll be better that way._ Jin considers this. _He has a point. Or do I have a point? Forget it._ What harm is there in befriending Hwoarang, really? Surely the costs won’t outweigh the potential benefits. If he gets extra training out of it, that’s a huge bonus, too.

 

Jin spots the match board and heads over to it, putting this train of thought aside for another time. He scans the panel for his own name, momentarily becoming very confused when he can’t find himself before realizing that he’s looking for the wrong characters. _Idiot_. Jin Kazama will not be on this board because Jin Kazama isn’t here. _Endo, Endo, Endo_...there it is! Jin peers intently at his match slot. His opponent isn’t a name he recognizes from the opening ceremonies, so they must not be a returning contestant. 10:00...that’s not too bad, not at all. He’ll have plenty of time to warm up and mentally prepare himself before then.

 

“Well, that’s a lucky break.” A voice says from over his shoulder, and Jin jolts in surprise. _What the – ?_ “ _Whoa_ , there. Easy.”

 

Momentary panic aside, though, he knows that voice. Jin glances back to see Hwoarang close behind him, somehow looking amused and apologetic all at once.

 

“You’re a tightly-wound one, aren’t you?” He continues. “My bad. Didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

 

“It’s fine.” Jin pauses. His hair is different today, vibrant strands falling about his face now that they aren’t held back by goggles and hair gel. “What’s lucky?”

 

Hwoarang inclines his head at the match board. “Our lineups. And here I was worrying they were gonna put us against each other too early.”

 

Jin looks back at the assignments for the day, realizing that Hwoarang is right. As a matter of fact, Hwoarang’s debut match is shortly after his. Neither of them are in the main stadium – likely reserved for familiar names and widely recognized talent – but that’s really just fine by Jin. The less publicity he gets, the better.

 

“We’ll both be in the same place.” Jin says thoughtfully. Hwoarang nods.

 

“Good thing, too. That way I’ll get to watch your match before mine starts.”

 

Ah, that’s really what he’s after. He wants to see him fight. Jin smiles a little, secretly warmed by the idea.

 

“I suppose I should return the favor, then.” He suggests, fascinated by the way that Hwoarang’s eyes light up at the mere prospect.

 

“Oh, yeah?”

 

“Sure.” Jin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Sizing up the competition. Can’t have you learning all my secrets without something to even the odds.”

 

Hwoarang laughs quietly and cocks his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small smile. He’s wearing a hoodie this morning, too, a faded gray one – both of his hands are shoved into the large front pocket, just like Jin’s are. Unlike Jin, he doesn’t have his hood up, seemingly preferring to leave his brightly-colored hair visible for all to see. He looks a lot more approachable like this.

 

“ _Well_.” Hwoarang drawls, his voice doing something interesting that makes Jin’s stomach flip. “Guess I’ll have to give you a good showing, then.”

 

“Looking forward to it.”

 

“You bet I am, too.”

 

There’s something about him – maybe it’s his bearing, his behavior, his way of speaking. Maybe it’s the way he dresses, maybe it’s the color of his hair. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes when he meets Jin’s gaze, lively and unrestrained. He’s always been a good judge of things beyond his understanding, skilled at sensing that which isn’t quite there, and Hwoarang is no exception to that rule. Jin is getting something from him, and whatever it is, he wants more of it.

 

A lot more of it.

 

Eventually, Hwoarang shifts, suddenly all-too aware and...uncomfortable? A moment later, Jin realizes with no small amount of embarrassment that they’ve just sort of been...staring at each other for the last several seconds. Without speaking. Without doing much of anything except... _staring_.

 

 _Yikes_.

 

Hwoarang rubs the back of his head, not meeting Jin’s eyes. “Anyway, guess I’d better get going. See you later, Kaza – fuck. Endo.”

 

“Yeah.” Jin lifts his hand in a little wave, which Hwoarang acknowledges with a smirk and a casual flick of his wrist. _Huh_. His bravado is seemingly all back in place. _He certainly recovers fast_. Jin admires his ability to bounce back so seamlessly after something like that. He really is the type to take everything in stride, not letting mistakes bother him past the point of learning from them.

 

But that’s enough about him. There’s quite a bit of work to be done before his first match, and he has to make sure that he’s in the right mindset for fighting. He’s had a lot weighing on him since he got here...rediscovering his center probably takes priority at this point. Even if connecting with Hwoarang is something he can spend time doing, he can’t forget the real reason that he’s here and what that purpose is going to require of him.

 

Still, as Hwoarang leaves, all Jin can think is that he likes it when he calls him by his real name.

 

“Hey, Endo.”

 

Jin looks up, realizing that Hwoarang has stopped walking away and has turned back around to face him now.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You wanna come warm up with me?”

 

Jin blinks. Normally, he would say no to an offer like this. He needs to buckle down and focus so he can secure his first win. Afterwards, once he’s cleared that hurdle and has determined how he wants to handle these earlier rounds, he’ll be free to spend as much time with Hwoarang as he likes. He doesn’t _have_ to do this. That’s why Hwoarang asked and is giving him the chance to refuse.

 

But on the other hand, he has plenty of experience training with someone else. Most of his active fighting years have been spent at Lee’s side, and he always performs just as well when someone is watching. Honestly, he might even do better with Hwoarang around, their mutual interests allowing social facilitation to do its job.

 

And through it all, there’s just something about him, something different, something interesting. Jin feels compelled to accept, if not just to see what he’s made of. Besides, they _did_ say yesterday that they wanted to train together.

 

“Sure,” he says, and the grin Hwoarang throws his way in response is nothing short of blinding.

 

“Sweet. Let’s go!”

 

Based on the fire suddenly burning in his gut, Jin would say he’s made the right decision.

 

* * *

 

In a way, this is the most like a normal _teenager_ he has ever felt. The building containing all the training rooms is currently more active than the rest of the venue, so they wander down the hallways and try not to be too disruptive, checking through the windows in the doors to see if anyone is using that particular vestibule. They get excited about some of the moves they get to witness as they go by – the unbelievably huge man who literally obliterated a punching bag comes to mind – and bump into each other along the way, laughing quietly to themselves like they’re sharing some inside joke. It’s a fascinating feeling, almost a phenomenon, something new and strange and thrilling. Hwoarang grins and nudges him with his elbow and Jin pushes back, nodding in the direction of another door. To just mess around like this, to have someone else running wild alongside him – it’s liberating, and the potential to experience more of it just makes locating an empty room all the better.

 

Needless to say, they can’t change into their gear fast enough.

 

Jin is ready before Hwoarang is, shrugging out of his hoodie and putting on his foot guards in record time. Since his gi pants and gloves are basically part of his standard attire, it’s not that impressive of a feat, but it’s all a testament to his interest nonetheless. It’ll be his first time watching someone else that isn’t Lee up close, his first time practicing with someone completely unknown to him. What fighting style does Hwoarang use? What’s his warmup routine like? Would he be willing to give Jin ideas for his own regiments and receive some in return?

 

 _Calm. Take it easy_. Jin breathes deeply, attempting (somewhat in vain) to settle himself. It’s only the second day of the tournament, but he’s already coming face-to-face with parts of himself that he hardly knew existed. Sure, he’s been nervous before, but never like he was last night. He has definitely never behaved the way he did with Hwoarang once he finally managed to get it together, confident and quick-witted and maybe even a little flirtatious. Most of that was just rising to Hwoarang’s challenge, but _still_. Being with him has only led to the discovery of new things – as much as he wants to keep that, he isn’t sure if now is necessarily the best time for it.

 

“I meant to ask,” Hwoarang starts from the other side of the room, pulling Jin out of his thoughts, “Is that set of yours custom-made? It looks expensive.”

 

“It is, actually.” Jin replies, stroking the smooth fabric of his hoodie as he speaks. The white and black always reminds him of his mother, which is why he’d wanted it. His favorite red and black set is identical in pattern because Lee had designed them as a pair. “...it was a birthday present.”

 

He swears his voice trembles as he says it, but Hwoarang doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“Heh. That’s cool.” There’s a pause, punctuated by the sound of rustling cloth. “My set was a present, too. Eighteenth birthday. That’s why it’s still so nice, probably. Haven’t had the chance to destroy it yet.”

 

Jin smiles to himself. “Oh, yeah?”

 

“I’m not all that careful most days,” Hwoarang confesses, laughter in his voice. “I tend to wreck my shit more often than not. Add to that the fact that I grew like crazy when I was younger, and. Well. Nothing I had ever fit me for very long.”

 

Jin laughs too, unable to help himself. He remembers all-too well what Hwoarang is talking about. When he first hit puberty, he very quickly outgrew most of his clothes. His mother had had an interesting time trying to keep up with his rapidly-changing body, although she never seemed put-out by all the extra work. Later, Lee would lament his developing musculature with his usual brand exasperated fondness, merely shaking his head and laughing whenever Jin would rip an old shirt during a complex maneuver. Lee, of course, had a much easier time replacing what he accidentally destroyed, but the sentiment was similar.

 

... _shit_.

 

Jin scrubs at his eyes with one hand, shaking his head. _Don’t cry. Don’t cry_. He really gave himself a three-hit combo that time, thinking about Lee’s birthday presents and then his mother and then Lee again. _Why do you always_ –

 

“There we go.” Hwoarang’s satisfied voice draws him out of his brooding again, and he jerks his hand away from his hoodie guiltily. “All set. You ready?”

 

“Yes.” Jin turns, resolute in putting his thoughts aside. “Oh! That’s a really cool dobok set!”

 

Clean and white with black and blue accents, the matching pants and jacket change Hwoarang from a street punk into a respectable student. Well. _Mostly_ respectable. Jin notes with amusement that his jacket remains open and completely unfastened with nothing underneath, exposing most of his upper body. His hair is somewhat held back by a black and white headband, and blue foot guards and matching fingerless gloves complete the look.

 

And what a look it is, especially for him. His wardrobe and demeanor so far suggest a wild card in every sense of the phrase, but he seems more comfortable like this, in his own element despite the fact that he doesn’t appear to have much of an orderly bone in his body. Based on his physical appearance and the general neatness of his dobok alone, Jin can hypothesize that he possesses at least _some_ discipline, but whether or not it’s enough to satisfy any instructor is unknown to him. Although he’s rough around the edges, there’s something there that speaks of proper training. Jin supposes he’ll have to wait and see for himself just how much.

 

“Isn’t it, though?” Hwoarang poses jokingly, winking at him. “It’s the nicest thing I own!”

 

Jin laughs. “I’ll assume you have the skills to make it worth wearing.”

 

“You’d better believe it, Kaza – _why is this so hard for me to get_ – Endo.”

 

Jin can tell that he wants to get into a sparring match, a dangerously mutual feeling that probably won’t do them much good at the moment. Perhaps in a few minutes, after they’ve warmed up sufficiently – to just jump into a fight without any sort of preparation is never a good idea. Jin knows better than to rush something like this.

 

So he leads by example, hoping that Hwoarang will get the picture.

 

Jin shakes himself out and settles into one of his preferred breathing stances, back straight and feet shoulder-width apart. Figuring that rudimentary stretching exercises will be enough for now, he gets into those immediately, noting with satisfaction that Hwoarang has decided to do the same. He can hear him over to his left, counting quietly in Korean through some repetitious activity or another. Jin smiles to himself at his impatience. It’s possible that he already warmed up more extensively in his hotel room earlier, but Jin doubts it. Still, he probably knows better than to push too much, so he needn’t worry.

 

Several minutes pass before Jin deems himself ready for the next level of preparation. After wrapping up a few, final exercises, he makes a point of steadying his breathing, silently considering what routine he should do today. A few of his newer ones are more impressive – he does have company, after all – but for a day like this, it might be better to stick to his more familiar sets. One of the first katas Lee ever taught him would actually be perfect.

 

Katas are his favorite part of warming up, the transition from basic stretches and techniques to something a little more practical never failing to center him properly. They’re the foundation for his entire style, after all, and the constant repetition of the framework movements create a fluidity that he strives for daily. Lee always fought like water, one attack flowing smoothly into the next – Jin’s own style naturally isn’t quite so graceful, but it still possesses a sort of elegance that can make it hard to keep up with. Getting into his katas reminds him of these subtle nuances, and it has always been easy for him to lose himself in the rhythm of it all.

 

Still, he can feel how intensely he’s being watched.

 

Jin looks over to see Hwoarang’s eyes on him, burning with some unknown yet deeply familiar emotion. He pauses in his kata, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Like what you see?” He inquires, smirking at the redhead when his gaze snaps up as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

 

“Oh, you’re a dangerous one,” Hwoarang retorts, but he still seems distracted. Jin realizes that he doesn’t really mind _this_ sort of examination at all, even appreciating it, finding his companion’s open approval to be a nice change of pace. “You’ve got good form. And that’s not a basic karate style, is it?”

 

Jin tilts his head. “Want to try it for yourself?”

 

Hwoarang’s whole face lights up at the prospect and he nods excitedly before he manages to check himself, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

 

“Yeah.” He says, throwing a confident grin in Jin’s direction to cover up his genuine zeal for this opportunity. It only works about halfway. “You sure you can handle the heat?”

 

“Give me all you’ve got.”

 

Hwoarang bounces a little on the balls of his feet, stepping into a fighting stance. Jin nods and does the same.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Hell yeah.”

 

Despite their assertive declarations, neither of them charge forward right away. Hwoarang’s scrutiny is intense against his skin, lighting him up from the inside, and Jin himself is unable to look away from the other man, watching as the potential energy slowly winds up in his muscles. A shift of weight, a twitch of fingers, a flicker of his gaze – _he’s about to push forward_.

 

Jin forces himself to relax, fighting the instinctive urge to tense up. Hwoarang seems clever enough that his feints would probably be convincing, and Jin can’t afford to get tripped up so soon by something like _that_. If he isn’t ready for this, then there’s no way he’ll be prepared for his match later, especially not with the residual negative energy carrying over into the fight. No, if he wants this to be worthwhile, he has to ground himself and stay focused.

 

They both deserve that much.

 

Hwoarang shifts his weight onto his back foot, giving Jin pause for just a moment before he jumps back and uses the momentum change to fling himself forward. Surprised but prepared nonetheless, Jin blocks the first kick with an upraised arm before transitioning into a core defensive strategy, deflecting Hwoarang’s series of punches. He catches one, but it’s a mistake – Hwoarang wild grin of smug satisfaction tips Jin off with just an instant to spare, and he barely manages to dodge the flying kick that comes his way. Hwoarang rights himself, Jin gets his footing again, and with barely a second to spare, they come back at each once more.

 

In an instant, everything just slides into place.

 

They slip in and out of each other’s rhythms, dodging feet and fists and the occasional but very deliberate elbow. Hwoarang closes in and Jin backs out, a step or two in the same direction before someone changes the dance and they start anew. It’s all a sensory overload in the best way, the blistering heat of a barely-evaded kick, the electric surge of a blocked punch, the thrilling crush of a recently-escaped hold. They’re in the air, Hwoarang literally flying above him to deliver a perfectly-executed Hunting Hawk, only to quickly find themselves on the ground, skin against skin as Hwoarang laughs and wriggles his way out of Jin’s lock. He can’t seem to pin him down, but that’s alright, that’s just fine. If he managed to trap him, then it would be over, and that’s the one thing Jin doesn’t want.

 

He never wants this to end.

 

Jin has never experienced anything like this. His personal universe expands to fit just this one thing, just this moment, just this match. Just Hwoarang. The synchronicity between them is astounding, like they’ve been training together for years already, like they’ve somehow met before. The electricity in his veins is lighting him up from within, making him feel alive in a way that nothing else ever has, and for a moment, he swears that their souls meet.

 

They go, and they go, and they go, and they can’t stop for anything. They draw back only to rush in again, catching their breath for all of a second before the other’s gravitational pull becomes too strong and they simply must return. Jin doesn’t want to stay away, doesn’t even know if he could manage it if he tried. There’s so much to learn here, so much to experience and assimilate and cherish wholeheartedly. He feels so strongly about it, and it’s no secret that Hwoarang feels the same.

 

_This is something special. This is something that only we have._

 

Eventually, though, they withdraw more firmly, stepping away on some unspoken mutual agreement. They both dive into their bags for water, foregoing even oxygen in an effort at getting some fluid back in their bodies. Jin drains his entire bottle within a few moments, spilling some of it onto his chest in his haste.

 

Hwoarang doesn’t look much more put-together than he does, dobok jacket and headband damp with sweat from the exertion. As Jin watches, he pushes his hair back off his face, running his fingers through the strands as he ties it back in a messy low ponytail to get it off the back of his neck. He notices Jin looking and quirks a curious eyebrow at him.

 

“Up for another round?” He asks breathlessly, and Jin is about to give him an equally winded affirmative when he notices the clock on the wall behind him.

 

Notably, the clock on the wall behind him that reads ‘ _9:45_ ’.

 

“Oh, sh – Hwoarang, _the time!_ ”

 

Hwoarang follows his line of sight and glances back over his shoulder, swearing loudly once he realizes what Jin is looking at.

 

“Kazama, you’ve gotta get a move on!” He says urgently, already grabbing his own bag. “Are you ready to go?”

 

“I don’t have a choice!”

 

Hwoarang barks a laugh at that, tossing Jin another water bottle as he passes him.

 

“Drink that on your way over. I’ll be right behind you.”

 

“You’re not going to cool down?” Jin almost stops walking, but Hwoarang shoves at him, waving him out the door.

 

“What, and miss your match? Not a chance! It’s the first round, I’ll be fine.” Hwoarang assures him, and Jin nods.

 

“Alright. I’ll see you there.”

 

“Kick their ass.”

 

“Count on it!” Jin calls over his shoulder as he bolts out the door, casting one last glance back at the clock. _9:47_. He has less than thirteen minutes to get there and put his head back together. He’s done more in less before, right?

 

* * *

 

Down in the tunnel, Jin has his eyes closed, doing his best to tune out the announcer’s booming voice and the dull roar of the crowd. He’d made it to the locker rooms with a few minutes to spare, using that time to catch his breath and get himself focused before anything else. It’s lucky for him that sparring tends to center him more than most other things do, otherwise he might have his work cut out for him.

 

 _Confidence. Vigilance. Efficiency_. He might not have the traditional experience of the other fighters here, or even the privilege of having engaged in an official tournament before, but he knows he can do this. He has the skills, but more importantly, he has the drive, the conviction. The determination to keep getting back up and push until he’s where he wants to be.

 

He won’t be stopped until Toshin has been eliminated. That is a fact.

 

The announcer calls for his entrance, and fortunately Jin is aware enough to recognize his summons despite it not being his given name. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders. Opens his eyes.

 

_Make this count._

 

Jin strides out onto the arena grounds, foregoing any sort of personal fanfare and sticking calmly to what he knows best. _Focus_. His opponent doesn’t have the same reservations, making eyes at the small crowd and showing off for the cameras. Jin can feel the presence of all of that, but doesn’t acknowledge the audience outside of a cursory check. _Vigilance_. He takes his place on the stage floor, breathing out slowly as he relaxes into his body. _Finish this_.

 

His opponent draws closer, assuming their own position across from him. Jin isn’t looking, but he can sense the way that the other man is studying him, probably arching a critical eyebrow at Jin’s sunglasses and raised hood. _Not that his own outfit is much better_ , Jin notes sourly against his better judgement. All he can see are the man’s shoes, but. Well. They’re silly.

 

 _Ah. Focus_. Jin shakes himself, casting a sideways glance at the crowd one last time – in the second row, auburn hair fire-bright in the sun, is Hwoarang.

 

The announcer calls for the start. Jin moves before his opponent can even finish breathing in.

 

His first punch lands with a satisfying thud, causing the other to double over in pain. Wasting no time, Jin brings his knee up, smashing it into the man’s face. He reels backwards, his disorientation a clear opening – Jin cocks his fist back and aims for his jaw, the reverse punch strong enough to send his opponent sprawling.

 

Two seconds.

 

The crowd, little as it is, goes wild. Jin stays on high alert as his adversary struggles to his hands and knees, looking rightfully furious at the ease with which Jin took him down the first time. His nose, although probably not broken, is already bleeding. Jin smirks.

_Ready for more?_

 

The other man growls and surges forward, probably aiming low or attempting some sort of uppercut. He hadn’t quite righted himself before making the lunge, though, so his center of balance is entirely off. Jin waits, notes the minimal weight shift (uppercut it is), and plays it low. In time with his adversary’s upswing, he drops to the floor, catching the man in the gut with his foot and using the redistribution of gravity to kick him over his head. He flies, body flipping with the force of the launch and landing on his back – Jin smiles to himself, pleased at the opportunity to use something that his mother taught him.

 

He’s on his feet as they call the first round, circling back to his initial starting position. His opponent is irate now, shooting Jin a dirty look that he dutifully ignores. It’s only his first matchup; he assumes that, outside of the people who will actually make it to the final rounds, most of the early contestants are either well-intentioned amateurs or overconfident hot-shots. This guy is clearly the latter.

 

Still, he’s evidently capable of learning from his mistakes. When the second round begins, he behaves far more warily than before, skittering backwards and beginning to circle, seemingly searching for an opening. Jin allows this. The other is a little too obvious with his maneuvers, making him easy to read, and with the distance that he’s put between them, Jin will have little to no trouble determining what he’s going to attempt next in the time it takes for him to get close.

 

Through all of this, he is intensely aware that Hwoarang is watching him.

 

Perhaps it’s from his years of training with Lee, always knowing that someone else is observing what he’s capable of, but whatever the reason, it’s causing him to be hyper-cognizant of Hwoarang’s scrutiny. This venue is smaller than most of the others, too, so when he glances over to the audience after flooring his opponent once more, he comes eye-to-eye with the other fighter’s fiery gaze. Just like before, Jin feels their souls meet – Hwoarang shoots him a feral grin, tilting his head up, and Jin returns the gesture.

 

_Get it, Kazama._

_No problem._

 

Spirited, Jin zeroes in on his adversary, noting his fatigue with satisfaction. The other man has quickly realized that he’s severely outmatched, and the despair is setting in. Jin levels him with a determined glare, setting his jaw.

 

 _Let’s finish this_.

 

* * *

 

Jin ducks surreptitiously into the stands just as the announcer calls Hwoarang’s name, and he rushes to find a seat within view of the arena. He wants Hwoarang to be able to see that he’s there if he happens to look, even if he isn’t sure that Hwoarang will recognize him now that he’s changed clothes. His hood is still up, though, so maybe that’ll be enough of an indicator?

 

Hwoarang is obviously just as exhausted as he is, all of his seemingly characteristic bravado completely gone the moment he steps foot on the arena floor. Playful and laid-back as he’d been with Jin earlier in the training room, he’s deadly serious now, intent on finishing this and coming out on top. His opponent appears to be of a similar mindset, but Jin can already tell that she doesn’t have the conviction necessary to get her through this round past Hwoarang. She’s an amateur, much like Jin’s previous adversary, although at least she possesses some semblance of self-awareness.

 

The two never take their eyes off of each other until moments before the start of the match, and that’s when Hwoarang glances out into the audience. Jin knows the second that he sees him, because up on the monitor, he sees his new friend break out into a smile.

 

_Go for it._

 

The match starts with a sudden burst of energy, both fighters surging forward at the sound of the announcer’s directive. The girl is fast, but Hwoarang is faster – he deflects her punch and plants his shoulder in her stomach in one smooth motion, shoving her to the floor with enough force to knock her flat on her back. He lets her get to her feet without rushing her, but the understanding of her situation is clear on his opponent’s face. She’s already starting to believe that she’s outmatched, and the first round has just begun.

 

One of the first things Lee had ever taught him was to never give his opponent too much credit. Anything can turn the tide of battle, he’d always said, and you can make that anything happen. Don’t look at someone and think you’ve lost just because it seems as though they’re stronger than you. Jin learned quickly that the moment you start to doubt yourself, you’ve already begun to hand your victory away to your opponent.

 

This girl is obviously too young and inexperienced to realize that, although her mounting uncertainty does nothing to stop her from pushing back. For his part, Hwoarang never takes what she gives, just dodges and deflects and occasionally uses the reverse momentum to his advantage. _Oh, he is good_. She’s careful about leaving openings, but Hwoarang finds them anyway, landing strikes that send her skidding backwards across the arena. She’s already out of breath.

 

Hwoarang, on the other hand, seems to be gaining energy as the match goes on. The round changes over and he just keeps pressuring her, subtly and skillfully boxing her in despite the arena being an open one. She doesn’t seem to know how to pull away, her side exits blocked and her own reflexes unable to move backwards fast enough before he’s on her again. Hwoarang bends his knees, springs forward, body twisting midair as he kicks her one, two, three times before landing. This time, she doesn’t get up before the timer runs down to zero.

 

Jin stares, transfixed, at the monitor. The playback of the final move is showing on the screen, Hwoarang’s impressive finisher on display for all to see. There’s so much power in his body, so much control in his movements – Jin catches a glimpse of his face in the moment that the strike hits, that brilliant, blinding, adrenaline-fueled grin stirring something primal in his blood. He really is something.

 

He has to wait for Hwoarang to come out of the locker room, unable to leave without at least acknowledging his stellar performance. Personally, he wants to secure at least one more sparring opportunity with him, but more than anything, he just wants to confirm that all of this wasn’t just a dream. That this unrestrained, fiery joy that he feels inside is well-founded and reciprocated by the personal who caused it.

 

“Endo!”

 

Jin turns to see Hwoarang approaching him, dobok set replaced by a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. He has a towel slung over his shoulders, and he looks out of breath but very, very pleased with himself.

 

“Hwoarang,” Jin greets him, trying and failing to contain his excited energy. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Pretty good!” Hwoarang replies cheerfully. “Shit, dude, you _killed_ it out there!”

 

Jin is going to thank him for that, probably offer a compliment in return, but Hwoarang barrels on, seemingly too impressed to keep it to himself.

 

“You’re the real deal. I can’t wait to see your next lineup.”

 

“Watching you was fantastic, too.” Jin answers earnestly. “Although I think I liked sparring with you even better.”

 

“Yeah?” Hwoarang sounds a little surprised, but he looks pleased. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, now won’t we?”

 

“I would like that very much.”

 

There’s this moment again where Jin starts to lose himself in the thrill of it all, more than content to just linger there in Hwoarang’s personal space, but decorum demands that he at least make _some_ sort of effort to avoid that slightly awkward staring scenario this time around. Hwoarang seems a little hesitant to leave as well, but he huffs a soft laugh anyway, lightly punching Jin’s shoulder.

 

“Heh. See you tomorrow, then.” He says, and there’s something in his tone that warms Jin from inside. “I’ll hold you to that sparring match, you know.”

 

“You’d better hold me to more than just one,” Jin replies, cocking an eyebrow in silent challenge. “I know _I’m_ looking forward to more than that, at least.”

 

Hwoarang’s grin widens into a proper smile, jubilant and genuine, and Jin finds himself wanting to make it happen more often.

 

“Yeah. Me, too.”

 

This is different. This is new. This is everything he already thought it might be, but it’s also more.

 

It’s so much more, and Jin can’t wait to get to the rest of it.

 


	6. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay – I know I said originally that the pace of updating for this story would be bimonthly at best, so technically I’m waaay ahead of schedule, but I’ve just been so excited about it that I feel bad whenever I don’t get anything out within the week. With this in mind, I apologize for any weird inconsistencies in matters of plot - I've been doing a lot of writing and a lot less proofreading, haha. I'll be sure to come back and iron anything out later. 
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for all your feedback and encouragement. You guys bring me so much happiness.

 

Jin hadn’t been sure about what to expect from these tournaments initially, but even after spending a mere four and a half days in the middle of one, he’s already figured out a few things.

 

First and foremost, the other contestants. Talk about an array of interesting characters. None of the books Jin has ever read or the movies he’s ever watched could’ve prepared him for the variety of personalities and behaviors that these people flaunt about. There’s a certain wildness about all of them, even the more normal ones, and their individual demeanors carry their own colors like a banner.

 

There’s Paul Phoenix, a veritable force of nature the size of an actual building who claims to know Jin at first when he meets him, then changes his mind. Jin first sees him with Forrest Law, another contestant closer to Jin’s age whose traditional Chinese martial arts style reminds him of Lee’s in places. They’re both pretty hyperactive guys, but it’s entertaining, and they both seem like genuinely kind people who are here to have a good time and get into some good fights. Hopefully not with him, though – Jin and Hwoarang both made a point of watching Paul’s first match and had to fight the urge to leave the country altogether when the man punched his opponent clear across the ring.

 

There’s also Lei Wulong, a police officer and detective from Hong Kong who appears to be quite a character. In some ways, he’s similar to Lee, what with his desire to know literally everything about literally everyone, but also because he just seems to be intensely _aware_ of everything around him. Still, he seems friendly enough, and his fighting style is a fascinating array of Chinese martial arts, some of which Jin has only read about. Every now and then, he’ll look at Jin a little funny, but he never brings up what he’s thinking about. Hwoarang hasn’t noticed, so Jin lets it slide.

 

Besides them, they also meet Julia Chang and Ling Xiaoyu, two of the tournament’s comparatively smaller number of female contestants. Julia is polite and intelligent, and her duty-driven nature reminds Jin of himself in many ways. Her fighting style is a pretty good one, too, and Hwoarang spends most of her matches pointing out all the wrestling moves she’s using or how powerful her punches are.

 

Xiaoyu is younger than them by a few years and is still in high school (and funnily enough, goes to the high school that Heihachi Mishima owns. The man owns a high school. Who knew?). She tags along with them when they go to watch other contestant’s matches, always babbling away about something or other in high-pitched Japanese. In the span of an hour, they learn more about her than they even know about each other, although that’s hardly necessary – she’s already rather distinctive with her brightly-colored ensemble, sprigtails, and Giant Panda companion.

 

No, seriously, she has a literal panda with her. Jin had been forced to do most of the talking when she’d first introduced herself to them on the second day of the tourney, mostly because she was speaking in extremely rapid and excitable Japanese and Hwoarang couldn’t quite keep up, but also because the redhead was trying very hard to contain his laughter at the sight of this tiny girl and her entire goddamn _bear_. Jin chastising him for his rudeness after she’d scampered off to go watch a match had only made him laugh that much harder, and pretty soon they were both consumed by mirth over the whole experience.

 

Not everyone is so funny to be around, though. There are plenty of odd contestants, such as the jaguar-mask wearing wrestlers and the literal war-machine, as well as many intimidating ones like the stern capoeirista and the man with the sword. Then there are the downright scary people, like the Williams sisters (dubbed “the Shady Sisters” by Hwoarang after Paul had told them to stay away from them if possible).

 

It’s the contestants that make the whole tournament so...interesting. It’s not just about fighting for some of these people, if the rumors are to be believed. That’s the second thing, and Jin is grateful that he’d learned it before anything could go wrong. Even Hwoarang is hesitant to make too much of a scene around certain contestants, preferring to keep a low profile almost as much as Jin does at times. Paul Phoenix has a pretty big mouth, after all, and a short conversation with him was enough to figure out who was safe to sneeze around and who should just be avoided at all costs.

 

Xiaoyu, thankfully, isn’t one of those people. She’s sitting with him right now, actually, bouncing excitedly on the bleachers as they watch Hwoarang completely dominate his newest opponent. After cheering wildly for a particularly well-executed Hunting Hawk, she turns to Jin, her eyes full of enthusiasm.

 

“Did you see that?” She gushes, and Jin nods, smiling slightly at her exhilaration. Talking to her brings out a different side of him than talking to Hwoarang does, which has been interesting to notice and figure out. Xiaoyu’s hyperactive nature tends to emphasize Jin’s own natural calmness, and she does almost all of the speaking while he just listens and nods politely. She’s fun to be around – he doesn’t know how she fits that much energy into her tiny body – but it’s nothing intriguing, nothing special. Nothing that keeps him thinking about her in the scant hours he has alone in his hotel room, washing away the day and mentally preparing himself for tomorrow.

 

She doesn’t stick in his head the way Hwoarang does. No one really does, not Julia and her sincerity, not Forrest and his perfect backflips, not even the incredibly strong Paul Phoenix and the curious Lei Wulong. Hwoarang is distinct from them all, somehow, and that’s actually the third thing that Jin figures out.

 

Being around Hwoarang is kind of intoxicating.

 

Hwoarang’s hotel room ended up being not too far down the hall from Jin’s, which pretty much solidified their earlier notions of hanging out. They’ve spent almost all of their available time together since the tournament started, meeting up with each other in the mornings and watching each other’s matches and just generally being present for the majority of the other person’s day. Hwoarang talks about nothing just because he likes to talk, and Jin listens, enjoying the change of pace and the new perspective on the world. When he watches him fight, it ignites something within him, something unique and interesting and distinctive.

 

(When they spar, his whole world shifts.)

 

Even now, Hwoarang’s match clearly isn’t very difficult for him – energetic as always, a well-timed Axe Kick is more than enough to end the second round with a very effective knockout. Xiaoyu screams with delight, leaping up from the bleachers and flinging her arms in the air as she cheers her new friend’s name, and even Jin stands, catching Hwoarang’s eye as the redhead glances over to their section of the bleachers. As Jin watches, he cocks his head in the direction of the locker rooms, a smirk visible on his face. He grins. _A sparring match already? He’s insatiable._

 

Jin loves it.

 

“I’ll come to see your match later.” Jin promises Xiaoyu as a way of excusing himself, and she beams at him.

 

“Don’t be late!”

 

Jin smiles a little and turns, jogging down the length of the bleachers and making his way to the stadium’s underground tunnels. A quick glance down the hall shows Hwoarang waiting for him, and his face lights up when he sees Jin coming.

 

“What’d you think?” He asks as Jin falls in step beside him.

 

“A solid win.” Jin assures him. “Enough flair for the audience, too – the cameras really like you.”

 

Hwoarang laughs at that, shouldering open the locker room door and motioning for Jin to follow him.

 

“I have some practice showing off,” He admits, setting to work on removing his foot guards. “You know how I do a lot of street fighting back home?”

 

Jin nods, remembering that bit of trivia from a few days ago. Jin had confessed to never really fighting anyone besides his trainer before, and Hwoarang had laughed, saying that his master had probably wished that Hwoarang would stop fighting other people instead of training with him. When he’d explained himself, Jin had realized that his earlier instincts had been correct: Hwoarang was, in fact, accustomed to street fighting. The interesting part had been to learn that he was equally used to fighting with strict boundaries and a lot of discipline, something that Jin had noticed on his own when they sparred for the first time. He’d wondered where Hwoarang had gotten that control from.

 

“Well, I spend most of my time hustling fights.” He says, and Jin cocks his head to the side. Hwoarang lifts an eyebrow. “What, never heard of it?”

 

“Not really, no.” Jin confesses, and Hwoarang chuckles, shrugging out of his dobok jacket and pulling a tank-top out of his bag.

 

“Alright, so. Basically my friends and I get into it with other groups and we all place bets on who’s gonna win.” He explains, and Jin nods. “Whoever wins gets the money. It’s pretty straightforward.”

 

“I see.” Jin watches as Hwoarang shuffles around in his bag, intrigued and a little distracted by the way his back muscles shift underneath the tight material his shirt. “So, you’re used to publicity?”

 

“Thing is, when you’re hustling fights, you gotta be a good actor.” Hwoarang says casually, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. “You start to figure out how to give the crowd what they want while still keeping your head on straight. Making the other guy think you’re a punk helps, too – you gotta get them to underestimate you.”

 

“Hm.” Jin considers this new information as Hwoarang finishes dressing, using that line of thought to keep his eyes from wandering too much. He isn’t entirely sure why he keeps finding himself examining his new friend’s musculature and behaviors with such zeal, but he doesn’t let it worry him too much, especially when he has more important things to be concerned about.

 

Things like Lee.

 

Admittedly, he shouldn’t really be thinking about Lee, either. His guardian is not here (he hopes) and thinking of him in these recent contexts only serves to throw him off during his matches. Lee himself would probably be displeased to know that Jin is allowing such distractions affect the way he fights, but then again, he’s probably even more upset with Jin in general for running away and yeah, this train of thought never ends well for anyone. One would think that he’s run out of ways to consider all the uncomfortable and sticky intricacies of this, but, well. One would be very, very wrong.

 

What he _should_ be thinking about (or should at least be thinking about more than his potentially shattered relationship with Lee) is the tournament. More specifically, the final rounds of the tournament, the ones that will prepare him for facing Toshin at the end of the road. After sizing up all his competition, Jin has determined that he has a pretty significant chance of beating everyone else based on skill alone as long as he maintains his focus – when willpower is added to the equation, he’s almost certain that he’ll come out on top. He has to.

 

“ – in there?”

 

Jin blinks, startled, as Hwoarang’s fingers snap in front of his eyes. Refocusing his vision on his friend, Jin sees that his brow is furrowed, seemingly concerned and perhaps a little put-out by his complete and utter blank-out just then. _Why am I like this?_

 

“I’m sorry?” Jin asks, hoping he didn’t miss anything important. Hwoarang rolls his eyes, although it isn’t in a derisive manner.

 

“Just checking to make sure you were still on Earth, buddy.” He teases. “I’ve got my gear together. You ready to go?”

 

Jin nods, smiling; this seems to do the trick for Hwoarang, who smiles back, looking pleased.

 

“Well, alright then. Let’s roll.”

 

As usual, he’s never been happier to follow.

 

* * *

 

The day follows their usual routine of spending every manageable waking moment together. After a short sparring and cool-down session, they unanimously decide that a shower and dinner are in order before they go to watch Xiaoyu’s match this evening. Of course, because he likes to be efficient about these sorts of things, Hwoarang suggests that they shower in the training facility’s complimentary locker rooms rather than going all the way back to the hotel. It’s a good idea, especially since the showers there are easily accessible.

 

It’s also how they end up flinging soap at each other from their respective stalls and laughing until their sides hurt, but eh. Semantics.

 

Really, Jin has never had this much fun in his life. Every moment spent at Hwoarang’s side gives him something new to look forward to, something to experience that he’s never done before. Messing around in the showers never seemed like something he would do, but here he is, being taught how to snap a towel by the most informal and giggly teacher he’s ever had. To think he would discover something so strangely precious in a place like this.

 

They grab dinner at their favorite on-site restaurant, Jin paying for both of them and Hwoarang grousing about it as usual. He keeps swearing that he’ll pay Jin back for it all somehow, and Jin keeps telling him not to worry about it. It’s an interesting, if not amusing, little cycle of repeating events that Jin has already gotten quite accustomed to.

 

“Where did Ling say her match was?” Hwoarang asks, mouth stuffed full of rice. “She told me earlier, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t quite catch it. She still talks way too fast for me.”

 

“I can’t remember the name of the exact spot, but I know it’s next to the fireworks pavilion.” Jin replies, and Hwoarang bobs his head in acknowledgment.

 

“Cool, cool. We’ll just make our way on over after we finish. Sound good?”

 

“Sure,” Jin affirms, but he isn’t too sure if Hwoarang can hear him over the sound of slurping noodles. Jin doesn’t even think he finished swallowing the rice he was working on before switching his attentions, which is...very like him. Jin is no premiere expert on table manners himself, but he seems to have a better sense of _why_ they matter than Hwoarang does, not that he _really_ cares. It’s...endearing, somehow. If that makes sense. Much in the same way that Lee would say his occasional clumsiness was cute, or that his genuine nature was very charming. He supposes that minor flaws and personality quirks can be overlooked and even celebrated if you like the person enough.

 

Lee had been good at that right from the start, though. He’d accepted Jin as he was when they’d first met, even with all of his uneven edges and sullen moods and constant nightmares. He’d been so patient, slowly coaxing him out of his shell with such gentleness and care that Jin had hardly noticed he was opening up to a stranger. It had been bizarre to feel so safe with someone who wasn’t his mother, but...that’s just the way things had happened. Lee’s calm acknowledgement of everything that he was, both good and bad, had been exactly what he’d needed at the time. Later, when things had settled and Jin was ready, Lee had gradually begun to help him grow, strengthening his virtues and assisting him in managing and accepting his flaws – Jin had needed that, too.

 

 _Gods_ , he hopes Lee is alright. He simply _must_ know by now that Jin is here by this point, or at least that he’s gone. Honestly, Jin doesn’t know what’s better: Lee being aware of his absence as well as his current location, or Lee realizing that he’s missing without being able to figure out where he’s gotten off to. Either way, it’s bad, and the hot sense of shame that accompanies these thoughts is potent as ever.

 

“ – that?”

 

Jin blinks, startled, and realizes that he’s been staring blankly at his own food without eating it. A sheepish glance upwards reveals Hwoarang giving him a curious look.

 

“Did you ask me something?”

 

He hesitates before posing the question, but is relieved to see Hwoarang’s expression morph into one of amusement rather than annoyance at his frequently-offending inattentiveness.

 

“Yeah, but I think I got my answer already.” He says good-naturedly, gesturing at Jin’s plate with his chopsticks. “Hurry up and finish your dinner so we won’t be late for Ling’s match, yeah?”

 

“Of course.” Xiaoyu _had_ told him very specifically not to be late, after all. Heaven help him if he messes this one thing up.

 

* * *

 

 One of his favorite things about attending matches is attending them with Hwoarang. His friend gets so invested in the outcomes of the fights, engaging with such intensity and enthusiasm that Jin can’t help but share his sentiments. He really loves all of this, really lives in the moment, and it’s a delightful transparency that Jin didn’t know he needed in his life until just now.

 

Tonight is no different. Xiaoyu earns their loyal support by virtue of being their friend, but it’s a close bout, and Jin is definitely feeling the tension mounting in Hwoarang. The redhead is on the edge of the bench, eyes fixed to the monitor, barely even breathing as the blows are exchanged. Several times, his hand flashes out to grip Jin’s knee.

 

Although a little startled at first, this is something that Jin has gotten used to over the course of them attending matches together. Hwoarang gets so wound up sometimes that his body will begin acting on its own accord, and when the friction reaches a certain point, he instinctively seeks support from some outside source. Due to Jin’s proximity, it usually happens to be him, but Jin had seen him grab Forest’s arm once or twice during one of Julia’s matches earlier in the week. In a weird way, Jin kind of likes it.

 

The funniest part is that Hwoarang doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s doing it. When Jin had brought it up the first time, his friend had looked at him in utmost confusion, not knowing at all what he was talking about. Following Jin’s explanation, he had chalked it up to being some unintentional, innate reflex that his brain had very little input on, and they’d left it at that without a problem. Hwoarang continues to do it and not really notice, and Jin continues to keep himself close enough so that it happens. Because again, he kind of likes it. So sue him.

 

Jin himself is a little on edge tonight too, though, especially given how back and forth the match has been. They’re on the third round now, much too close to a sudden death for Jin’s tastes. What if she loses? It won’t be the end of the world, but he’ll still feel a little bad. He wants her to do well.

 

“Shit,” Hwoarang mutters, and Jin’s eyes flicker in his direction. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

 

“She’s done her best, even if she loses.” Jin starts, but Hwoarang shakes his head.

 

“Yeah, but – listen, dude, I don’t do well seeing girls cry. Especially when they look like they’re twelve.”

 

Jin stares at him for a moment, mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly. It’s not an odd statement by any means, but given the context of their scenario and the mounting strain in the air, it’s just so unexpected that it cracks the whole façade and he can’t do much else besides burst into laughter.

 

“Endo, what the hell?” Hwoarang hisses, scandalized, glancing around frantically to make sure no one is giving them the stinkeye. “Stop that!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jin wheezes, hiding his face in his hands to muffle all the noise he’s making. “It’s just – oh, you looked so serious – and then you – oh, gods, Hwoarang, you have no idea how funny that sounded!”

 

“I really don’t.” His friend says wryly. “I _was_ being serious.”

 

“I know! That’s the funniest part!”

 

Hwoarang looks like he’s about to say something else in response to Jin’s clear disregard for his very _serious_ problem, but just then, the announcer calls the final knockout. Both teenagers freeze, momentarily unable to bring themselves to look at the arena.

 

“Did we just – ?” Jin starts, at the same time that Hwoarang says, “Oh, _shit_.” He can see the brief prayer in his friend’s eyes, knowing the sentiment is most undoubtedly reflected in his own, before they both turn their gazes outward.

 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Hwoarang gasps, and Jin heaves a sigh. _She did it_.

 

“That was a close one.” Jin says, scanning the monitor. “She looks exhausted.”

 

“She should be. They were way too evenly-matched – hell, maybe she was even technically outmatched, I don’t know. Not sure how she pulled it off, but she did it.”

 

“Yeah.” Jin watches as Xiaoyu exits the arena floor, lacking all of her customary bounce. Admittedly, he’s a little surprised that she managed to succeed. For all intents and purposes, Hwoarang is right – she _was_ outmatched tonight. Not that she’s a slouch by any means, but she’s still only sixteen and in high school, at that. She doesn’t get to spend as much time practicing as the rest of them, some of whom actually fight for a living. Still, if there’s anything that he’s learned from this tournament, it’s that that both the contestants and the event itself are just _full_ of surprises.

 

“We’d better run down there and congratulate her before she starts wondering where we are,” Hwoarang says, standing up from the bench and stretching a little before clapping a hand on Jin’s shoulder to make sure he’s listening. “She got put-out when we were late last time, remember?”

 

“As much as she can be put-out by something silly like that.” Jin replies. Ling Xiaoyu is a lot of things, but easily dismayed isn’t one of them. He knows that it would have been easy for her to bounce back from even a potential loss tonight, even if such a thing is hard to imagine on a personal level.

 

“Fair enough.” Hwoarang laughs. “You good to go?”

 

“Right behind you.”

 

* * *

 

 They end up walking a triumphant but very sleepy Xiaoyu back to her hotel room with the ever-present assistance of Panda, reassuring her of the good work she did tonight. She seems pleased by their support, hanging off of Jin’s arm the whole way and referring to both of them with increasingly affectionate and silly nicknames. Jin is blushing furiously by the time they get to her door, barely able to get a word in edgewise, and Hwoarang isn’t helping by laughing so much.

 

He _especially_ isn’t helping when he turns back to Jin after getting Xiao into her room with a distinctly mischievous glint in his eye.

 

“Want me to walk you to your room, too, Endo-chan?” Hwoarang asks, quirking a teasing eyebrow. “Can’t have you getting lost down the hall or something.”

 

“Hwoarang,” Jin starts, just short of pouting, but Hwoarang holds up a hand.

 

“No, no, I’m sorry. I forgot that you prefer Yuu-Yuu-chan now.”

 

“ _Hwoarang_.”

 

Hwoarang is dissolving into a giggle fit by now, almost unable to get his next sentence out. “Oh man, my bad. Let me just – ”

 

“If you call me Kou-tan, I’m going to punch you in the face.” Jin warns, and now Hwoarang loses it, doubling over and almost needing to lean against the wall for support. He tries to reply, but is seemingly too preoccupied with wheezing to manage it. Jin sighs.

 

“This really isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

 

Hwoarang shakes his head, trying to catch his breath. “Is, too.”

 

“It’s not fair,” Jin protests. “She called you Wa-Wa-chan and you didn’t even blink!”

 

“Believe me, I’ve heard worse.” Hwoarang manages, squeezing his words out around a fit of laughter. “Besides, your reactions were too good for me to be paying attention to anything else.”

 

Jin crosses his arms while he waits for Hwoarang to finish being so amused by himself, projecting stern disapproval despite his good mood. Even if it’s at his own expense, Hwoarang’s palpable delight is infectious, and besides, it isn’t as though Jin is actually upset about all of this. It _is_ pretty funny, in a silly, embarrassing sort of way.

 

“Okay, I think I’m done.” Hwoarang gasps, righting himself and wiping a tear from his eye. “ _Whoo_ , that’s fucking amazing. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

 

“I’m glad you could get some amusement out of it.” Jin says with mock stiffness, although his façade cracks when Hwoarang smiles brightly at him. “We should really get back to our rooms, though.”

 

“Yeah.” Hwoarang steps out, inclines his head down the hall. “Walk with me?”

 

Jin just barely manages to restrain himself from saying “of course” in response, forcing himself to nod instead. His enthusiasm must still show on his face, though, because Hwoarang laughs as he turns to go, tucking away another fond smile as Jin falls in step beside him.

 

They take their time in companionable silence, foregoing the elevator in favor of the stairs, making their way to the next floor without encountering anyone else. The halls are usually fairly quiet this time of night – it’s a little too early for most of the remaining contestants to be heading back just yet, so the hotel is perhaps one of the least-frequented venues on the tournament grounds right now. Jin likes it, enjoying the peace and Hwoarang’s bright presence by his side.

 

“You know, I really can’t wait for my chance to take you on in the ring,” Hwoarang says eventually, and Jin believes him. There’s a certain conviction in his voice and demeanor that leaves no room for doubt, and Jin knows by now just how seriously Hwoarang takes his matches. All their interactions have only served to cement Hwoarang’s desire to face him for real all the more.

 

“Sparring isn’t enough for you?” Jin says lightly, a faint teasing note in his voice, and laughs when the redhead punches him in the shoulder. “Hey, that was hard!”

 

“I don’t hold back for anything or anyone, even jokes,” Hwoarang warns, and Jin snorts.

 

“I think I’ve sparred with you enough to know that.”

 

Hwoarang just laughs and grins at him, carefree and easy and in a way that does funny things to Jin’s heart. He feels himself flushing a little at the sensation, once again reminded of the first night they’d really talked and Hwoarang’s seemingly casual flirting. He still isn’t sure how to handle it, but he’s finally starting to get better about not making a fool of himself whenever his friend quirks a suggestive eyebrow at him.

 

“Really, though,” Hwoarang continues, tilting his head back to gaze up at the lights above. “I didn’t think I was going to meet someone like you when I decided to do this. That’s not what I came here for, and I never expected it. Can’t say that I mind, though.” His eyes slide over to Jin and he smiles again, the genuine thankfulness on his face catching the dark-haired man off-guard. “I think I needed it.”

 

In a way, it’s almost too good to be true. Here is this man, alive and alight with an energy all his own, and he’s just as invested in what they’ve built together as Jin is, if not more. To find that this is just as meaningful for him as it is for Jin, well. That’s perfect. Jin wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“I needed it, too.” Jin says honestly. “Really. Thank you.”

 

Hwoarang chuckles, nudging him gently with his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “Anytime, Kazama. Anytime.”

 

For once, he doesn’t bother to correct himself, and Jin doesn’t want him to. More and more, he’s finding that he doesn’t want to be Kouyuu Endo whenever Hwoarang is around. He just wants to be himself, even to the point that he would rather hear his own name come out of the other man’s mouth.

 

All too soon, they find themselves at Jin’s door. There’s a moment or two (as always, really) where they find themselves unsure of what to say, not particularly wanting to separate but also knowing that they’re responsible for a lot more than just hanging out at this point. Hwoarang is usually the one who figures out what to say first; tonight is no different.

 

“Catch you tomorrow,” he says with a casual wave. “Hit me up if you wanna get some sparring in before your match in the morning!”

 

“I will, thank you.” Jin watches as Hwoarang heads off down the hall, turning back once to flash a customary grin in his direction before keying into his room. Jin smiles to himself and shakes his head, opening his own door. _Yeah, I’ll definitely be taking him up on that offer._

 

The relative quiet of his own room is a blessing after such a long and active day, and he settles in quickly, more than ready for a peaceful night. He feels...content. Happy. Excited, even, curious for what tomorrow and the rest of this tournament might bring. The matches, the victories, his time with Hwoarang, it’s all so vibrant in his heart that he can’t help but look forward to more. He’s even smiling as he snuggles down into his bed, all by himself with no other reason for doing it besides the fact that he _can_.

 

He knows why he feels this way, and not for the first time this week, Jin finds himself falling asleep to familiar colors of auburn and red.  

 


	7. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smarter writer would've waited a day or two to let the chapter simmer after finishing it. Tonight, unfortunately, I am definitely not that writer. 
> 
> EDIT: I somehow managed to post this the first time without the chapter title OR the chapter summary. Christ. How's that for playing it smart?
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you for your patience!

 

In the coming days, Jin awakens in the morning as he has many times before, soaked in sweat and just barely managing not to scream. The last image he recalls, of course, is the same as it has always been: Toshin, dark and terrifying, looming overhead and blocking out the light. Four years have passed since he last saw that monster, and yet he still cannot escape the nightmares.

 

At least this time, he knows _why_.

 

Knowing why won’t help him shake the pressure, though, and Jin rests his head in his hands, fingers tangling through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. It’s really unlike him to be so... _nervy_ about these sorts of things, but with the tournament steadily approaching its final stages, he’s running out of time. The number of remaining contestants is steadily dwindling by the day, each with their own stakes that have helped them get this far. Of all the friendly acquaintances he’d made and faces he’d seen at the beginning of the tournament, very few remain.

 

One of them is Hwoarang.

 

Any and all potential guilt that Jin might feel over eliminating his new friend from the running is severely outweighed by the terrifying possibility that he might make it all the way to the end – that Hwoarang might succeed well enough to face Toshin in his stead. Jin cannot, _will not_ let that happen. His faith in him cannot displace his fear, and the odds of Hwoarang being killed by that behemoth are higher than the ones of him surviving, let alone winning. He can’t lose anyone else to that thing, especially not Hwoarang. He _has_ to win.

 

He’s never going to manage such a feat while feeling like this, though. He needs to pull it together before he sabotages himself in the eleventh hour. Surely there must be a good way to center himself before his match today...?

 

If he were at home with Lee, he would just wander around the gardens for a while. Fewer things in existence assist him in composing himself as much as that place does. There are gardens here at the tournament venue, but they’re lackluster in comparison. All they really do is make him miss Lee’s back home, with its lovely flower arrangements and sheltering trees – it’s so much nicer than the imposing rock formations and towering foliage that this one has. Still, it’s all he has right now. He may as well try.

 

Sighing, Jin pushes himself out of bed. He has a tree to go sit under.

 

* * *

 

He’s grateful for the quietude of the venue this early in the morning, and he encounters no one as he makes his way to the garden closest to the hotel. Luckily, it’s his favorite one, the most subtle of all of them and perhaps the most peaceful. There’s a small space behind one of the fountains and a cluster of trees that he likes, mostly due to the fact that it affords some privacy but also because it is the most similar to anything he knows from back home.

 

 _Home_. For the first time, he truly finds himself wanting to be there instead of here. Before, he’d just missed it, had wondered if he would ever get to see it again. Today, though, he _yearns_ for it, wants nothing more than to be in those familiar halls again, if even for just a moment. He misses Lee, would give anything to see him, to speak to him, to bury himself in his guardian’s arms and close his eyes until everything was okay again. He could make some sense of this if he just had the _help_ – could manage this discomfort and fear if he just had someone else to show him _how_. Lee would know. Lee would help him.

 

But Lee isn’t here.

 

Jin finds himself choking back a sob, and he buries his face in his arms. He knows that this feeling of being overwhelmed will pass on its own – at least for now – but it’s _hard_. There’s so much at stake here, so much weighing on him, and he’s terrified that he’ll ruin it for himself.

 

That if he fails, the consequences for those he holds dear will be dire as well.

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, wrapped up in himself and trying not to fall apart, but eventually, he becomes aware that he isn’t alone. Someone else is nearby, hovering just outside of his sanctuary. For a moment or two, he can almost feel them, in that weird way that he sometimes does when he isn’t thinking. They’re uncertain, hesitant, concerned – Jin senses the flashes of worry and sadness coupled with a distinct coloring of indecision, all of which bleeds into panic and nervousness when he lifts his head.

 

There, somewhere off to his left and gazing at him intently, is Hwoarang.

 

Jin can see the trepidation on his face as he looks at him, but he can also discern his firm desire to help, and for once he has no idea if he wants him to come any closer. He glances away. Surely Hwoarang will consider this a waste of time – right? But why else would he be out here if not to search for Jin? Did he seek him out intentionally?

 

“Figures this is where I’d find you.” Hwoarang says, breaking him out of his thoughts as he comes to stand beside him. Jin isn’t looking at him, but he can feel the way he glances him over, seemingly gauging how to handle this. “How long have you been here?”

 

“Not sure.” Jin mumbles. “Maybe an hour?”

 

Hwoarang nods, sitting down and nudging Jin with his shoulder as though checking on him. Jin swallows. Hwoarang is so constant, so strong and unaffected – Jin suddenly finds himself craving his reassurance, the solidity of his warmth. Would it be too much to lean in, to stay there? To silently ask for what he needs? Lee and his mother always just...knew, somehow. Jin has never had to ask before. Is this really a burden that he can share with his new friend, no matter how vague it might be?

 

Beside him, Hwoarang sighs, shaking his head in response to the questions Jin hadn’t been able to ask aloud.

 

“Come here, dumbass.”

 

The insult is born of affection, and Jin only gets a moment or two to process it before Hwoarang is shifting in closer. He wraps a strong arm around Jin’s shoulders, pulling him snug against his body without even a hint of awkwardness or hesitation. Jin’s head ends up resting on Hwoarang’s chest, his weight pressing onto him, and he blinks in surprise. This is...not really where he expected to be, but...it’s nice.

 

It’s really, really nice.

 

They just sit there for a while, nestled together, Hwoarang not saying anything and just letting him take his time. Jin listens to his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest lull him into a calmer state. Hwoarang’s body is warm, and his hands are gentle where they rest against Jin’s back, grounding him. Around them, the air is soft, and the quiet sounds of the garden filter lightly through Jin’s senses. Hwoarang’s own feelings are surprisingly quiet, giving Jin the space he needs to think. It’s...peaceful.

 

Eventually, Jin feels himself settle, the familiar sensation easing the knot of anxiety in his gut. He shifts and Hwoarang drops his arms, giving Jin the freedom to move around and pull away if he chooses to. Jin doesn’t want to, but maybe he should. In a minute. Maybe later.  

 

“Saw a bird’s nest a bit back that way.” Hwoarang says conversationally, casually. Easily. “You wanna check it out?”

 

Jin presses his face into his shoulder and nods, grateful for the suggestion. Hwoarang pats him on the back.

 

“Cool. Should probably grab some breakfast after that. You’ll need some energy for your match later, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. We should do that.”

 

“You don’t need to bring me with you if you don’t want to. I know how things get sometimes.”

 

“No, no, I...” Jin flounders around in his head for a moment, frantically debating what, if anything, to tell him. “...please stay with me.”

 

Hwoarang nods, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

 

“Not a problem, Endo.”

 

The resulting ache he feels surprises him. To hear that name at a time like this...to be reminded of his treachery, of his betrayal, of secrecy in a moment where all he wants is to be honest and accepted, it’s almost...devastating. Jin decides that, at least for today, he doesn’t want to be Kouyuu Endo anymore. Not to Hwoarang.

 

“Can you...” he starts hesitantly, peering up at him, not sure how to ask. “Can you...can you call me by my real name today? If that’s alright?”

 

Hwoarang raises his eyebrows. “What about your cover?”

 

“I can’t do it today.” Jin confesses, ducking his head. “I...I don’t know. It’s probably stupid, but – ”

 

“Hey, hey, ssh,” Hwoarang says gently, tilting Jin’s face up so that they’re eye-to-eye again. “It’s okay. That’s an easy fix for me – obviously, I’ve been trying to call you Kazama this whole week. Won’t get out of my head for some reason.” His gaze is attentive, but earnest, intently searching Jin’s face. “So don’t worry about it, okay?”

 

Stunned by his friend’s touch, he nods. Hwoarang smiles.

 

“Good.” He lets him go so they can get up, and Jin finds himself missing the close contact almost immediately. “Now, let’s get going, yeah? Birds, then breakfast.”

 

“Birds, then breakfast.” Jin repeats, the phrase bringing a small smile to his face. “Sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

 

By the time he’s preparing for his match against Forrest, Jin is halfway convinced that Hwoarang must be some kind of magic. He feels much lighter than he had earlier, far less liable to drown inside his own head of doubts at this point. His methodology is only familiar to Jin in parts and pieces, but it works like a dream.

 

Lee had always been good with Jin when it came to his moods, but that was almost expected. Lee was an adult, for crying out loud, and he way he walked and talked just _screamed_ a level of experience that went far beyond his allotted years. He never let Jin’s oddities get to him, instead coaching him through his darkest hours with encouragement, patience, and what Jin eventually liked to think of as love. Even when he forced Jin to confront his issues, he never made him do as much without help. He was always there, even when Jin tried to hide it all from him.

 

Hwoarang, for all of his street smarts, lacks the sheer magnitude of Lee’s general know-how (and Jin is under the impression that most people do). He’s also his own person with his own personality and problems, all of which affect how he handles circumstances like these. Jin is sure he’s nervous about helping, concerned (to some degree) that he’s overstepping his boundaries by reaching out like this, but because Jin is his friend and he wants him to be okay, he tries anyway.

 

He tries, and it works.

 

Their relationship is a little too young for him to understand the depth of Jin’s demons or to ask him to face them, so he does what he can, instead. By offering distractions and a shoulder to lean on in equal measure, he’s giving Jin the option to open up if he wants, but also an out if he would rather not. He’s showing Jin that he’ll be there for him if he needs to talk, to think, to cry, but if he doesn’t want to do those things, he’ll also be there to make him forget why he was upset in the first place.

 

It’s different than what he’s grown accustomed to for the last four years, but it’s a good different, and he feels much steadier as he enters the arena for his match against Forrest. He’s going to need all the inner strength he can get in order to shut down and pull this off.

 

The announcer calls Forrest’s name and he comes bouncing into the ring, enthusiastic and gung-ho as ever. However, despite the lightness of his motions and demeanor, there’s something in his eyes that makes Jin’s gut clench unpleasantly. He’ll be taking this seriously today, more seriously than he’s taken any of his matches thus far. They both have stakes in this – at this point, everyone does.

 

 _You can be selfish,_ Jin reminds himself. _You’re allowed to have this. Everyone has their reasons – if you spend all this time trying to give everyone else a chance, you’ll never get what you want._

 

He can’t erase the bitter taste from his mouth, though. 

 

He doesn’t look for Hwoarang in the crowd this time, knowing that, for once, the sight of his friend will only make this worse. As the announcer calls for the match’s start, Jin focuses in, closing his eyes for just a moment. _It’s just the two of us. You don’t know him. You can’t lose here. This is more important than anything, and you have to make this count._

 

He opens his eyes, exhales slowly. Steps into a fighting stance. Thinks, just for one last moment, of his mother.

 

_You can’t lose here._

 

* * *

 

Time blurs.

 

He remembers...a few things after the fact, he thinks. Maybe. Maybe not. Everything is extremely vague, a little on the fuzzy side in places. Air whizzing past his head, his outstretched hands. Blocking kicks that don’t stop coming, ducking under flying leaps and countering well-timed backflips. It’s all an unfeeling, technical washout, until suddenly he’s standing in the center of the ring and the crowd is going wild and Forrest can’t get up.

 

Jin – Jin is frozen, then, abruptly too aware of his surroundings and painfully unsure of what to do in the face of it. He wants to help Forrest off the ground, to bow to him, to offer respect for a match he barely has any memory of, but he can’t. His body won’t move. This barely even feels like reality anymore. What should he do?

 

He gets lucky, because everything else decides for him.

 

The pitch and thrall of the crowd changes register and Paul Phoenix suddenly appears, larger than life and all the more imposing for pulling Jin out of his stupor. He comes for Forrest and Forrest alone, although he does offer a nod of acknowledgement in Jin’s direction. For a moment, it occurs to him that perhaps their goals had been somewhat twofold, that perhaps Paul can take up the helm now that Forrest has fallen from the ranks – but still, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just stands there, motionless. Disconnected. Waiting, perhaps, for something to tether himself to.

 

Someone touches his shoulder. He doesn’t turn, but he knows the feeling.

 

“Kazama.” Hwoarang says. His voice is quiet, low, almost soothing in a way that Jin can’t describe. “Let’s go.”

 

Warm fingers close around Jin’s wrist, putting inertia back into his body – although numb, Jin follows the implication of the light tug, allowing Hwoarang to lead him out of the bright lights and into the darkness of the hallway below.

 

Here, it is much quieter, and the sound of the crowd is a rumble that he can parse through more clearly. He feels a little more connected down here, the vibrations in the walls and floors reminding him that he’s still on solid ground. Maybe. He’ll just have to trust it. Trust the ground beneath his feet and the sensation of breathing and the way that the dim light of the overhead bulbs gleam off of Hwoarang’s hair when he turns to face him again.

 

“Are you alright?” Hwoarang asks, and Jin, suddenly faced with the question, doesn’t even remember what words are. Hwoarang’s gaze is steady, albeit worried, but he hasn’t let go on Jin’s wrist yet – the pressure is solid, an anchor he is barely aware of but finds comfort in nonetheless. “Can you hear me?”

 

He watches in an almost distant fascination as Hwoarang’s expression takes on an alarmed edge and wonders, hazily, what could have caused it.

 

“Kazama – ” Careful fingertips touch his face, smearing wetness there. Is he crying? “Are you crying?”

 

He feels it now, the stinging in his eyes, the warmth of the tears running down his face. _Oh_.

 

He tries to answer, tries to say yes, tries to say no, tries to shake his head and walk away and gather his belongings and go back to his hotel room and crawl into bed. He does none of those things.

 

He just cries harder.

 

He is faintly aware of what is happening outside of himself at this point, so when Hwoarang’s warmth disappears for a few moments and leaves him alone in this self-inflicted abyss, he almost collapses. Then he’s back and Jin finds himself clinging to him, incoherent and tear-stained and still unable to speak, just hoping that somehow Hwoarang will be able to _know_. There’s a hand on his shoulder, fingers around his wrist again, a solidity propping him up and walking him forward, careful, steady, slow.

 

Even as his thoughts fade in and out of incoherency, Hwoarang keeps talking to him, coaxing him gently through every step they take together. His voice is perhaps the one consistent thing that Jin can concentrate on, so he does, listening to his soft words and the sound of his breathing as he allows Hwoarang to lead him somewhere safe.

 

Jin is lucid enough to recognize his hotel room when they reach it, to feel the mattress beneath him as Hwoarang eases him into a sitting position on the bed. There’s a thud from the side as he dumps Jin’s bag on the floor, and then he’s kneeling in front of him, squeezing Jin’s knee to try and get his attention.

 

“Hey.” He’s gazing up into Jin’s face, searching for a sign of recognition; Jin swallows, wills himself to indicate acknowledgement of some sort. “Can I take your guards off?”

 

Jin stares at him dumbly. Hwoarang’s thumb smooths over the material of his gi pants.

 

“Your foot guards.” Hwoarang clarifies, tapping Jin’s left foot. “I’m going to take them off for you, okay?”

 

It takes him a moment, but Jin manages to process what he means. Something flickers in him, a small burst of embarrassment.

 

“You don’t – ” he tries, but his voice catches, and Hwoarang shakes his head.

 

“It’s alright,” he says gently, warm hand on Jin’s ankle. “Your hands are shaking.” So they are. “Let me help you. Please. Just try and catch your breath.”

 

His voice is so soft that it almost hurts, and Jin closes his eyes, trying to do as he asks. Trying to find himself. Trying to put his soul back into his body, trying to reconnect all his frayed and frazzled nerve endings.

 

“Talk.”

 

He feels Hwoarang pause in his work. “You want me to talk to you?”

 

Jin nods. “Please.”

 

“Okay.” A hand smooths over his heel, sliding off his gear. “I can do that.”

 

He shifts to Jin’s other foot, methodical and precise – after a moment or two of silence, he takes a breath.

 

“I used to hate drinking tea when I was a kid.” He starts, a little too quiet to be purely conversational but casual nonetheless. Inconsequential. Just a story to tell. “Thought it was too bitter, too hot when I tried it and then too cold when I waited. The mugs were weird. Brewing it made the whole place smell like leaves.”

 

Jin’s lips twitch. He doesn’t think Hwoarang sees it happen, but he continues, anyway.

 

“Still, though. You know how it goes. I had to drink it every day – part of training, I guess. Probably more for my attitude than my tul, but there was only so much anyone could do when dealing with a little shit like me.” He pauses, rests a hand on Jin’s knee again. “Can I get your gloves, too?”

 

This time, Jin has the wherewithal to nod, and Hwoarang sets to work. Their fingers touch, a brief sensation of skin on skin, and Jin finds himself craving more of it, the grounding nature of the contact far more comforting than feeling his characteristic warmth through the obstruction of his clothes.

 

“You want me to keep going?” Hwoarang asks softly, and Jin nods again. “Alright.”

 

Another brief pause ensues as Hwoarang starts undoing the straps on Jin’s gloves. “...eventually, though, it’s one of those things you kinda grow into, I guess. Cuz I always drank it, even though I hated it, and then one day...I dunno, I didn’t hate it anymore.”

 

He chuckles to himself, getting Jin’s first glove off and lingering there, just for a few extra moments. His touch is light, experimental, temporarily settling on the inside of his wrist in something like a silent question before brushing the skin there as he moves over to start on Jin’s other glove.

 

“Started brewing the stuff myself, most days.” He continues, voice quieter than before. “Came to associate it with good things. Happy memories. Making people proud. Shit like that.”

 

Jin makes a soft sound of affirmation in response, and Hwoarang sighs as he gets the glove off. There are several moments following that instance where neither of them move, Hwoarang still holding onto Jin’s hand and Jin staying there, eyes closed and praying that he doesn’t let go, not yet. Just a few seconds longer...maybe then he’ll be able to figure this out on his own. But not right now.

 

“I can make you some now, if you’d like.” Hwoarang offers, thumb running over an old scrape on Jin’s knuckles. “Doesn’t take too long.”

 

Jin swallows, wets his lips. Tries to breathe in a way that’ll steady his nerves.

 

“If,” he starts, aborting the sound when it trembles violently. Hwoarang squeezes his hand, though, so maybe he’ll try again. “If that’s okay.”

 

“Totally okay.” Hwoarang assures him, and Jin takes that moment to open his eyes again, to see if he can handle what the world looks like right now.  

 

The first thing he sees is the ceiling, awash with the dull light that manages to push its way through the curtains. It’s a sight that he’s gradually getting accustomed to beholding first thing in the morning whenever he wakes up – it isn’t his bedroom ceiling, but it’ll do. He knows where he is, what this all looks like.

 

The room itself is mercifully dim, and he’s grateful that Hwoarang had the foresight to avoid turning any of the lights on. He tends to prefer relative darkness at times like these, something about it helping him feel safer than if the whole space was filled up with illumination.

 

“Jin?” Hwoarang’s voice is soft, and Jin looks down at him. He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier, the same dark green jacket and faded T-shirt, which Jin finds comforting for some reason or another. Maybe it’s the consistency? His eyes are fixed on Jin, dark in the low lighting, which makes him look fragile and vulnerable as he kneels in front of him on the floor. His eyebrows are knit together, mouth a tense line – his hand is still holding onto Jin’s.

 

“I’m here.” He replies, trying to reassure him with a smile. He doubts that the act does any good, but the gesture seems to be appreciated nonetheless because Hwoarang nods, evidently satisfied.

 

“Take a bath and get some sleep.” Hwoarang tells him as he rises to his feet, a request just short of an order. “It’ll help, I promise. I’ll grab you some food and get that tea started, okay?”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jin protests, but Hwoarang crosses his arms and frowns at him.

 

“No, I don’t,” He agrees. “But I want to, and I will. Are you gonna stop me?”

 

Jin ducks his head. “No.”

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

He’s silent for a moment, and then Jin feels him lightly touch his shoulder. He looks up.

 

“You gonna be okay if I leave?” He asks quietly. “I can stay if you need me.”

 

Jin shakes his head slowly. “I’ll be alright. Just. Maybe don’t be gone for too long?”

 

That actually gets a laugh out of Hwoarang, and Jin watches in something akin to awe as his entire face lights up. He looks good when he laughs – happy, younger than he is, which is especially important right now after seeing him so withdrawn and serious. It’s amazing how accomplished he feels after this alone.

 

“Don’t worry about that, Kazama.” Hwoarang says, a fond expression on his face as he looks down at Jin. “I’ll be back before you know it. I’m good at this shit.”

 

Admittedly, Jin is a little surprised by how calm – and simultaneously very much not calm – he feels when he watches Hwoarang leave. It’s a familiar feeling, at least. Whenever Lee would help him out with something like this, Jin never wanted him out of his sight for fear that the moment he went away, it would start all over again.

 

And something like this...

 

Jin has experienced this before. Ever since his mother died. He doesn’t really know why, but Lee hadn’t seemed too fazed the first time it had happened, so Jin had just learned to accept it as a new fact of life. Of course, he also spent time actively trying to avoid making it happen too often, but...well. Things don’t always go the way you want them to.

 

Lee referred to them as panic attacks, saying that lots of people had them. That they were normal for some people, and that the best thing he could do was to learn about them and figure out why they happened to him. Through all of it, Lee had been there to help him, and Jin had appreciated it more than he could ever begin to express.

 

He hadn’t expected to have one while he was here. He also hadn’t expected Hwoarang to be so good at leading him through it.

 

Jin sighs, pushing off the bed to get a change of clothes. Bathing will help him get his emotions in order, and snuggling up in one of his favorite hoodies has always helped to settle his nerves after something like this. With any luck, he’ll more put-together by the time Hwoarang gets back.

 

* * *

 

Jin ends up staying in the shower for much longer than he’d initially planned, so by the time he gets out, Hwoarang is already in his room again, sitting cross-legged on the floor and stuffing his face with rice.

 

“Oh, hey!” He greets him as he steps out of the bathroom, gesturing to some boxes on the table. “I grabbed a bunch of shit, wasn’t sure what you wanted. It’s like a buffet line! And your tea is over there. I made a lot of it.”

 

“Thank you.” Jin steps past him, noting with some alarm the sheer amount of food Hwoarang collected in his absence. “How. How much do I owe you?”

 

“Absolutely nothing!” Hwoarang says cheerfully. “And if you try, I’ll kick your ass!”

 

Jin sighs, unable to keep himself from smiling. “If you insist.”

 

Hwoarang says nothing, although he does make an indistinct noise of happiness as he continues to eat. Jin ponders over the selection for a while before choosing something simple, deciding to come and sit by Hwoarang on the floor.

 

The rest of the evening passes in companionable quietude, with Hwoarang occasionally filling the silence with some chatter if necessary, but mostly just remaining nearby and offering a presence of stability. Jin appreciates this, much as he finds himself appreciating everything his new friend does nowadays – this whole incident really just served to cement it all, and in a way, he’s almost grateful for it.

 

Still, he would’ve preferred Hwoarang to remain in the dark about this particular part of him for a little bit longer. The good news is that Hwoarang doesn’t seem fazed by the behavior at all, leading Jin to wonder if perhaps he’s dealt with this before. It isn’t all that important, but it stays with him into the night, all the way up until when Hwoarang is about to return to his own room. He’s helped Jin get settled, teasingly offering to tuck him in, and he’s already at the door when Jin finally manages to ask about it.

 

“Hwoarang?”

 

Hwoarang glances back, lifting an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

 

Sitting here now, sheets fisted in his lap and almost...calm after his earlier breakdown, Jin feels a little silly pressing the issue, but a part of him wants to know. Maybe another part of him just wants to keep Hwoarang here for a little longer.

 

“How is it that you’re so good at this?”

 

Now both eyebrows go up, and Hwoarang tilts his head. “You mean – ?”

 

“Helping people.” Jin clarifies. “With stuff like this. People like me.”

 

Hwoarang takes a moment or two to think about that, one hand still resting on the doorknob. For a split second, a mournful look passes over his face, but then Jin blinks and the expression is gone, replaced by a quiet chuckle and a shrug.

 

“...you’re probably the first person to tell me that, so I’m not really sure.” He says somewhat hesitantly. “I guess...I guess I’ve just got some practice? Someone...someone I was close to used to deal with this kind of shit a lot. So. Yeah. Kind of sticks with you after a while.”

 

Jin nods. It makes enough sense, given the circumstances. Experience is one of the greatest – if not the harshest – teachers anyone could hope to learn something from. Lee has demonstrated that to him time and time again, and Hwoarang’s own stints with such matters are fairly obvious.

 

“...thank you.” He whispers, and Hwoarang laughs softly.

 

“Anytime, Kazama.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

“So do I. And if you need me, you know where to find me. I’ll be right there.”

 

His words are firm, but his eyes and voice are gentle, and Jin feels safe knowing that he can trust him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

_For everything._

 


	8. Fleeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only to part friends: 
> 
> Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only partially alive rn guys I'm so sorry
> 
> This one got SO LONG and honestly I don't even know how I feel about it anymore because it _absolutely_ kicked my ass but I'm sick of editing it to death so HERE. I will return and check later for the heinous errors that only appear after something has been posted. For now, good night and good luck, my friends. I appreciate you taking the time to read this, and I hope you're still invested (to some extent) in where things are headed. 
> 
> The playlist link has been added to the first chapter's notes. Some songs are content-related, while others are more for mood-setting and writing trance purposes, but I thought it might be fun. If you guys have any song recommendations, I would be more than happy to listen! I love music a lot, so hearing new stuff is always a joy for me.
> 
> Until next time! Which will be sooner than the wait this time, I promise!

The training rooms are quiet that following morning, which Jin is infinitely grateful for, as usual. He’d awoken some time earlier feeling rather sluggish, but ultimately better, so he’d decided to capitalize on that and make the most of some alone time. Normally, he would’ve gone down the hall to fetch Hwoarang, but Jin had figured that his friend had done enough for him yesterday already. Let him sleep in a little more – he probably needs the rest.

 

Which is how Jin finds himself here, running through his kata and drilling himself on basic maneuvers. He deliberately picks traditional techniques that he knows very well, not wanting to trigger himself any further into a state by being forced to think of Lee or his mother right now, and just lets himself fall into a rhythm. Let it go, let it all go – don’t think, don’t doubt, just do. Let it happen. Roll from one stance to the next, fluid as you please, a master in one’s own right.

 

Jin is delighted with himself when he pauses for a break and realizes that quite a bit of time has passed without him noticing. He likes getting into a zone – it feels good, especially when he’s spent so many days being off his game. Nothing like training to get his head on straight again (or as straight as it can be, anyway. He’s long-since given up on keeping it together without complications).

 

Knowing that he doesn’t have a match today takes a weight off of his shoulders, too. This late into the tournament, the pairings receive a lot more hype, and as things heat up into the semifinals, each passing day might only feature one or two fights. Jin’s quarterfinals match against Forrest was yesterday, as was Paul’s, which both of them unfortunately missed due to Jin’s rather inopportune panic attack. He and Hwoarang had definitely been planning on seeing it, too, because there was no way in hell they were going to skip out on Paul Phoenix’s undoubtedly insane quarterfinals fight, but sometimes things just don’t work out the way you want them to. Jin would know – he’d wanted to enjoy his match with Forrest, to revel in the thrill that comes with going up against someone skilled and different and exciting.

 

A part of him feels as though he has disrespected the other fighter by breaking down the way he did. After all, Forrest deserved Jin’s full attention and a good match. Maybe he’ll get the chance to apologize...? Paul is still in the running, and they seem to be here together, so he might still be around to watch the tournament’s end. There are two more quarterfinals matches today, after all, so –

 

The quarterfinals.

 

_Hwoarang._

 

Ice slips down his spine and he feels his breathing stutter to a halt. _Oh, gods_. Hwoarang – Hwoarang has a quarterfinals match today. Hwoarang has a quarterfinals match today that’s – Jin glances frantically at the clock – going to start in less than ten fucking minutes and gods, oh _gods_ , he is such a fucking _idiot_. Hwoarang has a quarterfinals match today, and Jin can’t even remember who it’s against, but it doesn’t matter, because Hwoarang is about to fight for his own stakes and Jin isn’t even there to support him. Instead, he’s lost somewhere in his own head, in his own life, completely unaware that the world is still turning around him. Without him.

 

Hwoarang is about to do this without him.

 

Jin explodes into motion, hastily flinging his gear into his bag and sprinting for the door. For all of its comfort earlier, the general emptiness of the training hall only serves to agitate him further now, an emotion that is only exacerbated by the similarly vacant nature of the courtyard. Still, he knows he can’t panic. That’ll shorten his breath, make this all that much harder when it really doesn’t have to be. The stadium is only a three-minute walk from the main area, so if he keeps running, he can probably make it before the fight starts. It doesn’t matter if he’ll just be one face in a sea of thousands – what matters is that he’s _there_. After Hwoarang was there for him yesterday, after he’s been there for him this whole time, the very _least_ Jin can do is return the favor.

 

 _Hell_ , and he never even got to check in with him this morning to make sure he was alright. Looking after someone can be exhausting, and Hwoarang was so patient with him yesterday, so gentle and soft-spoken. For someone who is naturally the exact opposite of all those things, he’d certainly been good at it, but Jin knows that had to have taken some serious effort. What if he hadn’t slept well last night? What if something had gone wrong? He wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have been able to help.

 

 _You can do this._ Jin tries to send his thoughts outward, towards the sky, towards the palpable energy of the stadium. _I know you can do this. You’re going to win, and you’re going to be okay._

_And I’m going to be there to see you do it._

 

* * *

 

The primary commentator has already started to announce the match by the time Jin makes it inside, and the packed house makes it difficult to find a good place. It doesn’t help that he’s distracted by the overhead monitor, watching for the moment when the contestants will be called on to take their place in the ring.

 

“Ho, Endo!”

 

A heavy hand comes down on his shoulder and it takes all of Jin’s willpower not to reflexively throw the owner of said hand to the ground. Upon turning around, though, he realizes that he probably wouldn’t have been able to pull that off even if he’d tried.

 

“Phoenix.” He says breathlessly, dipping his head in greeting. “I – ”

 

“Looking for a place to sit?” The large man booms, voice still impressively powerful even over the roar of the crowd.

 

“W – ”

 

“There’s plenty of room here!” Paul announces jovially, not even seeming to register Jin’s attempts at responding. He grabs the younger man by the shoulders, all but picking him up and placing him on the bench beside him, which is...not terrifying at all, obviously. If Paul notices Jin’s momentary stunned stiffness, he doesn’t mention it, instead leaning down to speak directly into Jin’s ear.

 

“Good match yesterday.”

 

Jin winces, wanting to reply, but the announcer takes that moment to call for the first contestant and every thought about yesterday is effectively pushed from Jin’s head because only now does he remember who Hwoarang’s opponent is supposed to be.

 

Julia Chang looks fiercer than Jin has ever seen her, striding into the arena without an ounce of hesitance. Her body is relaxed but aware, ready to react at a moment’s notice. She’s always done excellent prep work for her matches, and today has obviously been no exception.

 

Beside him, Paul makes his enthusiasm known, but Jin can only go through the motions. The determined look on Julia’s face is one that he recognizes on an intrinsic level, and it makes him nervous. He knows why he’s here, why _he_ would look that way – he can’t imagine what’s causing Julia to make a similar expression, to give off such a familiar aura at this point in time. Whatever her reasons are for being here, she takes them very seriously, and she isn’t planning on going down today without putting everything she has on the line.

 

The problem is that Jin just _knows_ she isn’t good enough to beat Hwoarang.

 

It’s not even necessarily a matter of skill or strength or precision, even though Hwoarang has a slight edge in all of those domains – no, this is a matter of physical will, of your body’s ability to match your stubbornness and keep getting up when you need it to. Despite Julia’s definitive prowess in fighting and her limitless drive, Jin knows that her body won’t be able to keep up with Hwoarang’s. In a war of attrition, he’ll be able to outlive her.

 

Based on what he knows of both of them and Julia’s general demeanor, Jin can already tell that this is what the match is going to come down to. More matter with less art, two honor-bound individuals stripped of their decorum to the bare bones of their ability. This will be a match of desperation, of firm deliverance, of regret and guilt and hurt that no one will come out of satisfied.

 

Jin isn’t entirely sure if he’s mentally prepared to watch it, but he doesn’t have a choice. It’s imperative that he’s here to support Hwoarang at this time.

 

The announcer calls Hwoarang’s name and he makes his way into the ring, for once devoid of any theatrics or flashy maneuvers. Jin catches a glimpse of his face in the overhead monitor and feels a twinge of pain in his chest when he sees Julia’s expression mirrored there. _Shit_. Whatever position they’re in, it’s the same one for both of them.

 

Hwoarang resolutely will not look at Julia, but he also won’t turn his gaze out into the audience. However he’s planning on approaching this, he’s going to do so from inside his own head without any outside influence. It’s a familiar trick of focus, one that he uses quite regularly, for better or for worse.

 

 _Hwoarang_. Jin watches as he takes his place in the ring, remembering how excited he was to spar with him the other day and wishing that things could stay that simple for the both of them. _You’re going to be alright._

_You can do this._

 

The start of the match is announced, and both fighters _move_ , Julia surging forward at the same time that Hwoarang does. They meet at somewhere close to the center of the ring, trading blows in a lightning-fast exchange, neither one of them gaining the upper hand or landing anything significant. It’s clear to Jin right from the start that they aren’t really pressuring each other just yet – more like testing their limits, trying to gauge what they can get away with early on in the match so they can formulate a broader plan of action.

 

The strike, break apart, then clash again, fiercer than before. Kicks block kicks and quick-thinking saves prevent either one of them from getting tangled into a lock-up. Hwoarang doesn’t really use those, but Julia does, but even then she knows better than to be too obvious about it. Likewise, Hwoarang knows better than to line her up for any of his more technical maneuvers too soon so as to avoid making a mistake so early in the matchup.

 

There’s a moment where Jin thinks Julia might be able to get him, but Hwoarang pushes back, using her momentum to land the first real hit of the fight and send her skidding away.

 

Just like that, the atmosphere shifts. Julia changes her stance, and Hwoarang mirrors her – the tension rises in noticeable increments, practically thickening the air around them. For all of their blinding speed and intensity at the start of the match, it’s suddenly clear that they have no tangible idea of how to get the upper hand without putting themselves at risk for a finisher.

 

Julia circles him warily, searching for an opening. Hwoarang tracks her every move, not too lax, not too tense, but Jin can tell that he’s anxious. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to overthink his plan of attack, which is...strange for him. Usually Hwoarang _doesn’t_ think – that’s one of the things that makes him so dangerous in the right setting. He runs on instinct, on quick observation, on risky maneuvers that surprise his opponent into dropping their guard. It isn’t a perfect method by any means, but it’s very _Hwoarang_ , and when coupled with his skill, it makes him rather formidable in combat.

 

Julia, by contrast, is far more cautious. She’s an analyst and an observer, studying her opponent’s mannerisms and using their typical patterns to her advantage. She’s tactical in her moveset as well as in her approach – many of her techniques pit her adversary’s weight against them, and if Hwoarang doesn’t remain vigilant, he’ll end up on the receiving end of one of those for certain.

 

He’s familiar with Julia’s tactics by now, just as Julia is aware of Hwoarang’s usual behavior. Both of them are as on their game as they are off of it, and while Jin is naturally concerned for Julia, he can’t help but be more worried about Hwoarang.

 

In many ways, Julia is a lot like him. She is more easily affected by her emotions, and more importantly, is more prone to allowing them to dictate her mental state. She can panic, she can hesitate, she can choke – Jin has witnessed her come close once or twice while facing opponents who, for all intents and purposes, easily could’ve defeated her. It was her determination that had won out in the end, that and her stellar execution of a fighting style she knows very well. However, she’s still more susceptible to self-made negative influences, so seeing her like this isn’t as strange as it could be.

 

Hwoarang, though...Hwoarang isn’t like that. He always has it together, and even when he doesn’t, he’s very good at making you _think_ he does. Casual, confident, comfortable as you please, Hwoarang never shows hesitance or fear in the ring, even when he should. It can be very convincing, which is part of why his current demeanor is so distressing.

 

Right now, he isn’t convincing anyone.

 

Julia darts in and out of Hwoarang’s range, attempting a few strikes and withdrawing immediately when they aren’t successful. Hwoarang rebuffs her every time, but doesn’t make an effort to follow up, instead preferring to stay on the defensive. This is another odd choice for him. Hwoarang prefers to maintain an offensive position at all times, and his defensive tactics are limited in comparison. Jin knows that Hwoarang’s moveset doesn’t respond well to being pressured, something he himself has definitely exploited during their many sparring sessions – but Hwoarang knows that, too.

 

Even stranger is that Julia is aware of this weakness as well, yet she is seemingly hesitant to move in for too long. Her anxiety over this match’s importance is interfering with her rational thinking, and Jin silently wills her not to panic, knowing more than anyone else just how suffocating it can be.

 

Beside him, Paul shifts in his seat, leaning forward. Distracted by the movement, Jin misses the moment when Hwoarang springs forward for the attack.

 

The new bout flips the mood on its head, Hwoarang letting out a yell as he unleashes an aggressive series of blows onto Julia. He’s pressuring her now, not letting up for even a second, and Jin’s eyes widen as he realizes just how _hard_ Hwoarang is hitting her. Usually, that kind of power is saved for the latter half of the match, when time is running low and you’ve found your footing and you have nothing left to lose, but Hwoarang has evidently decided to end this as quickly as possible.

 

Julia weathers the storm with expert determination, but Jin can see her faltering under the sheer force of the strikes that do manage to hit their mark. Even with that to her disadvantage, she still fights back, taking blows in order deliver some of her own. It’s a risky strategy, but it’s all she really has right now – Jin knows perfectly well that she’ll seize her opportunity when it comes.

 

Provided that Hwoarang allows her one, that is.

 

The seconds tick by and Jin swears that they’re moving out of time, so much transpiring between them that it feels like the match should be over already. Neither of them give any ground, give any indication of giving up, and it’s all Jin can do to just sit and watch them. As it is, the material of his gi pants is fisted tightly in his clenched fingers, and every muscle in his body is taut. The tension is unbelievable.

 

The first match goes to Hwoarang by virtue of him managing to floor Julia before time ran out, so when the second match starts, she’s twice as fierce as before. She goes after Hwoarang with a feral yell, launching a complex and terrifying assault of her own without a moment’s hesitation. Watching her now, Jin has to concede that perhaps her kicks are more loaded than Hwoarang’s are – hell, they might even be as lethal as Lee’s. If Hwoarang isn’t careful, he’ll be upended in a second. She really could be an absolute beast in the ring.

 

Hwoarang, by contrast, is cooling down rapidly as the match progresses. Jin is accustomed to his usual style – loud, hot, fast. In all of their sparring sessions, Hwoarang builds his intensity with fire and passion, a welcome contrast to Jin’s calmer and more calculated approach to victory. Now, though, he’s transitioning to a different state of mind, one that Jin finds to be distinctly...alarming.

 

It’s safe to say that he’s never seen him so ruthless.

 

The more Julia retaliates, the more punishing Hwoarang’s responses become, landing hits with enough power to knock her completely to the ground. This happens once, twice, three times – despite her insistence on keeping up, she’s still a few paces behind. Hwoarang is relentless. Jin can see it in his face, clear as day: _I will not let you win_.

 

She gets up. They trade off again before he kicks her hard enough to send her flying through the air, and the collective gasp of the crowd is enough to make Jin jump at the suddenness of it. A quick glance at Paul reveals that the older man is deeply engrossed in the fight, his brow furrowed in sharp concentration. There’s an indecipherable light in his eyes.

 

Julia has tears visibly streaming down her face now, the shaking in her arms and legs obvious even from this distance, but she still gets up again. The camera pans to Hwoarang for a second as she struggles to her feet, and Jin’s heart wrenches at the sight of his anguished expression. Their emotional states are compounding, taking a toll on both fighters even as they try to focus, to concentrate, to keep from being overwhelmed. It’s a fight against themselves as much as it’s a fight against each other, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them can’t do it anymore.

 

Hwoarang closes in again, and Jin finds himself distracted by his countenance. There’s something unchecked in his demeanor that Jin doesn’t recognize, something strange and almost violent that doesn’t line up with how expertly his assault is conducted. His movements are sharp, controlled, merciless, even as the rest of him emphatically is not – Julia can’t keep up, and she knows it.

 

Soon enough, it’s over.

 

Jin exhales, releasing a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. The crowd is wild around him, freed from the inescapable tension of the battle at long last, but he feels numb to it, watching in silence as Julia curls up on the arena floor. Hwoarang looks like he wants to approach her, the indecision clear on his face, but it’s more than apparent to Jin that he would much rather do anything but stay.

 

Sure enough, after a moment of deliberation, Hwoarang shakes his head and turns away. His exit is quick and unceremonious, a sure sign that he isn’t alright. Jin can’t get to his feet fast enough.

 

“It’s a shame.” Paul says from beside him, and Jin stops, compelled by the somber tone in his voice.

 

“What is?”

 

The older man has a serious look on his face, gaze trained on Julia as she sobs uncontrollably on the ground, and Jin is unprepared for just how much he suddenly reminds him of Lee. Distant, untouchable, unreadable – for a moment, one can almost catch a glimpse of the universe in their eyes, difficult and jaded and fantastical in equal measure.

 

“This kind of thing isn’t supposed to ruin your life.” Paul is saying, almost sounding...sad? Bitter? Angry? It’s hard to catch the nuance with the crowd around them, but Jin thinks it might be all three. “Fighting...fighting should feel good. Should make you feel alive, test your limits and show you what you’re made of...let you find someone else that feels the same way you do. People will come and fight because they love it – you don’t have to drag them into it by hurting anyone.” His voice hardens. “That’s not what it’s for.”

 

He looks to Jin, then, that strange color still in his eyes.

 

“Go look after him. He’ll need someone after this. I’ll check on Julia.”

 

Jin can only nod, stunned and a little intimidated by the man’s unusual character. Paul resumes his distant glare, and Jin hurries off before anything else can be exchanged.

 

* * *

 

Hwoarang is sitting on the bench when Jin enters the locker room, his head bowed and most of his gear still on. His hands are clasped around his discarded headband, obscuring his face from view, but he stirs slightly when the door opens.

 

“It’s me.” Jin offers before he has the chance to ask. Hwoarang nods once in acknowledgement – it’s a brief, curt motion. “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Jin almost flinches at the sharp tone, slightly surprised. He hadn’t really expected a response at all, let alone a verbal one, so to receive such a harsh reply is startling. Even more jarring is to hear it directed at him, which hasn’t happened yet since they’ve been together – Hwoarang is a bona fide spitfire, certainly, but Jin has never been subjected to his temper before. He won’t say that it’s pleasant, but at least it’s...something.

 

“...alright.” Jin says cautiously, wondering how best to respond to Hwoarang’s hostility. “...do you want me to leave you alone?”

 

This time, he does not receive an answer. Hwoarang doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication as to having heard him at all, and Jin...well, he still doesn’t really know how to work with that, but he figures that his safest option is to do as he’s suggested. If Hwoarang needs him, he’ll know where to find him.

 

Still, the strangest sense of sadness wells up inside of him when he touches the door handle. Is this how Lee felt whenever he would elect to give Jin his space? That bizarre, uncomfortable dichotomy of hoping you’re doing the right thing and wondering if it’s better to stay...Jin used to ask for his privacy an awful lot. Even understanding where Hwoarang is coming from, it still doesn’t feel good. How on earth was Lee always so –

 

“Wait.”

 

Jin pauses, wondering for a moment if he’d imagined the sound of Hwoarang’s voice. When his friend doesn’t follow up with anything else, he turns around.

 

“Hwoarang?” Jin ventures.

 

Hwoarang hasn’t changed his position, but he looks tenser than before, and his shoulders are shaking. He takes a breath, and the sound is ragged.

 

“Stay.”

 

When he speaks, his voice wavers.

 

Jin starts to hurry towards him before thinking better of it, wondering if Hwoarang would still prefer that he keep his distance. He wants to ask, but then again, Hwoarang may not want him to speak, either – all he might need is Jin’s presence nearby, and maybe in a moment he’ll give him the okay to do more. No matter what the case is, Jin wants to help, he just really isn’t sure how to.

 

“Okay.” He keeps his voice low, hoping that it isn’t too much. “Is this alright?”

 

Hwoarang gives a visible shudder. “Can you – just – fuck.”

 

His voice is even weaker than before, and he folds in on himself, obviously trying not to do _something_ , and failing all the same. He lets out a choked little sound, full of despair, and Jin is at his side before he can even think about whether or not he should come any closer.

 

“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m right here.”

 

Hwoarang nods jerkily, still hiding his face. It’s clear to Jin now that he’s struggling valiantly not to cry, which is alarming – even though he hasn’t known him for that long, Hwoarang has never struck Jin as the type of person who cries much, if at all. Any and all emotional lows seem to be handled with angry outbursts or sullen silence, both of which he can relate to. Whenever he finds himself crying, it’s usually because he’s at such a loss that he simply doesn’t know what else to do. He wonders if Hwoarang is the same.

 

“Shit.” Hwoarang mutters, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. “Shit, _shit_ – ”

 

“It’s okay.” Jin tries, mentally hitting himself for such a weak start. “You’re alright. It’s – it’s okay if you have to cry.”

 

Hwoarang shakes his head. “Can we. Can we get out of here?”

 

“Yeah, let’s do that. Where do you want to go?”

 

“Your room.” Hwoarang seems to say that without thinking, because he backpedals slightly, following up with a hesitant “Okay?”

 

“Yeah, we can do that.” Jin says gently, hoping to reassure him. “Let’s go. It’s okay.”

 

Hwoarang remains on the bench while Jin gathers his things, and when he comes back, he grabs onto Jin’s wrist and doesn’t let go. He won’t look at him, but the request is clear: _please stay close to me. I’m lost right now._

 

Jin is more than willing to oblige, and he’s careful when they leave, avoiding the areas with the highest amounts of traffic. He’s eternally thankful to whatever protective forces may exist in the world when they manage to make it back to his hotel room with minimal interference, and he ushers Hwoarang inside, leading him over to sit on the edge of the bed. Only once he’s there does he let go of Jin’s wrist.

 

“You can lie down if you want,” Jin offers quietly. “Is there anything you need?”

 

Hwoarang doesn’t answer for a long time, choosing instead to remove his foot guards and gloves. His face is unreadable, mostly obscured by his hair, and Jin wishes he knew what he was thinking about.

 

“...can you sit with me?”

 

His voice is so soft that Jin almost misses the question, but when he realizes what he’s said, he is quick to reply.

 

“Of course.” He assures him. Hwoarang doesn’t elaborate, but he slumps sideways onto the mattress, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his forearm. Jin sits on the edge of the bed beside him, close by but resolutely not looking, especially not once Hwoarang starts to cry again.

 

He isn’t sure how long they stay there, Hwoarang trying to compose himself and Jin just _staying_ as requested. A part of him feels like he should be doing more, but another part of him knows that this is plenty as far as Hwoarang is concerned. If they were closer friends and had known each other for a longer period of time, maybe this would be different, but it seems to be enough for now. He just hopes that he’ll feel better after this.

 

Eventually, Hwoarang speaks again.

 

“Fuck.” His voice is thick. Jin glances back to see that his eyes are still covered by his forearm. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” Jin squeezes his other hand, gratified when Hwoarang tightens his grip in response. “It’s okay.”

 

Hwoarang lapses back into silence for a time, but Jin doesn’t let go of his hand, stroking it lightly with his thumb in an attempt at being comforting. This is something of a violation of the previously established system, but he’s meeting no resistance, so he supposes Hwoarang just hadn’t known how to ask for anything more than he had. Jin can understand that – he’d never been able to ask for anything, Lee had somehow just...known.

 

“It’s just,” Hwoarang starts, aborting his own words before changing his mind again and continuing anyway. “I thought I could handle it. I thought I was ready. I didn’t...I didn’t think it was gonna feel like that.”

 

Jin doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes Hwoarang’s hand again, knowing perfectly well what he means. Fighting Forrest should’ve been an emotionally taxing experience, which is why he’d shut himself down before that could happen. Granted, he hadn’t done that on purpose, but even as it had hurt him in some ways, it had also saved him from... _something_. Whatever _this_ is, the guilt and frustration and confusion that Hwoarang is feeling right now. He isn’t like Jin – he hadn’t been able to shut down, probably couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. That’s just not who he is, how he operates.

 

In a way, Jin is glad for it, even if it’s causing him to suffer right now.

 

“She needed that win just as badly as I did.” Hwoarang continues, shaking his head as though disgusted with himself. “Maybe even more, I don’t know.”

 

Jin nods, thinking about his fight with Forrest yesterday, what Paul had said earlier. The determination pushing everyone forward, the tension running high, the emotional toll this whole thing was taking on everyone participating.

 

“I think...a lot of us do.” He says slowly. “Something...that’s part of the reason why a lot of us are here.”

 

“Stupid.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“A tournament should – you know, it should be about _fighting_ and shit, not whatever the hell this background garbage is.” Hwoarang mutters. “We shouldn’t – we shouldn’t be scared to face our friends because the stakes shouldn’t be that fucking high.”

 

“Paul said that earlier.” Jin mentions, and Hwoarang huffs.

 

“Yeah? He’s right. And I guess he would know. He’s done this shit before.”

 

“I never thought...I never expected anything like this.” Jin confesses. “It’s...it’s strange.”

 

“You know – it’s stupid, that’s what it is.” Hwoarang says bitterly. “Fucking stupid. I’ll bet it’s that fucking Heihachi Mishima’s fault, too. That old scumbag is a bastard and a half, and you just know anything with his name on it is gonna get crazy.”

 

Based on Lee’s poorly-disguised distaste for the man, Jin is inclined to agree, but Hwoarang evidently isn’t done sharing his sentiments on the matter. He sits up suddenly, glaring at the opposite wall.

 

“I mean, shit – this could all be his fucking fault, you know? How many people here do you think got fucked over by something he did?”

 

He’s almost raging now, voice rising with every subsequent accusation. There’s an edge to his words, an unfamiliar fury in his eyes, something strange in the whole picture that Jin somehow senses as a reflection of pain more than anything else. He’s clearly had just about all he can take for today, and Jin’s heart aches for him.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” Hwoarang finally demands, one hand tugging on his hair in agitation. “Why is everyone here so desperate to win? Why does everyone have no money or dead parents or no family anymore?”

 

Jin reaches out, catching his friend by the wrist to get his attention again. Hwoarang looks at him like he’d almost forgotten Jin was even there.

 

“Easy.” He says softly, carefully untangling Hwoarang’s fingers from his hair. “Easy. It’s alright.”

 

Hwoarang looks at him for a long moment before nodding, closing his eyes as he lets out a long, slow exhale. He moves over so he’s sitting next to Jin on the edge of the bed, but even then, he’s slow to pull his hand away.

 

“It just doesn’t seem right.” Hwoarang concedes. “It’s just...ruining everything.”

 

Jin bites his lip, wondering if his friend can take a guess at his own motivations for being here. They’ve never talked about it, never even really come close – their mutual passion for fighting and for getting stronger seemed sufficient for the both of them as explanations for attending, and even if they had their suspicions about the other, it was something they would never address. That kind of thing is someone’s private business, after all.

 

Still, Jin feels like he needs to say something about it. It isn’t the best time, but it might be his last real chance to do so in a way that still gives them some space to figure it out. He knows that Hwoarang has a lot that he’s fighting for – it’s only fair for them to understand each other.

 

_You trust him, don’t you?_

 

“...may I...may I tell you something?” Jin asks. His voice comes out more subdued than he’d intended, but Hwoarang just glances at him from the corner of his eye and nods.

 

“Yeah. Whatever you want.”

 

Jin exhales, letting the breath travel slowly. Now is the time – he can do this, right? Confess his darkest memories to someone else besides Lee?

 

“My mother died when I was fifteen.” Jin says eventually, staring at his hands. “All my life, it was just the two of us. She taught me so much of what I know, made me who I am...I was happy there.”

 

He’s not looking at him, but Hwoarang’s demeanor shifts at his words and Jin just knows that he can tell where this story is probably headed.

 

“On my fifteenth birthday...our home was attacked. By Toshin. It...well. I tried to fight it, but I was knocked unconscious...when I woke up, everything was in ruins, and my mother...”

 

He doesn’t want to say it. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to, and Hwoarang sucks in a breath between his teeth.

 

“...shit, Kazama.”

 

Jin shuts his eyes, resolved to continue. “After Toshin, my guardian took me in. He taught me how to fight like this, helped me cope with my mother’s death...gave me another home after I’d lost my old one. I...I owe him.”

 

Beside him, Hwoarang stays quiet, but Jin detects a particular change in his breathing that inclines him to believe that, perhaps, this part is even more personal for Hwoarang than the first part of the story. Still, he doesn’t interrupt, and Jin takes that as a sign to continue.

 

“I don’t want him to get hurt. If...if Toshin somehow finds him...”

 

But that’s too much to voice aloud. The mere thought of that monster taking Lee away from him like it took his mother is devastating, and Jin bows his head, concentrating on willing his tears away. _Gods_ , but he misses Lee so much, but if he does this...if he eliminates Toshin, then it will have been worth it.

 

It has to be.

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Hwoarang’s slow, shaky exhale, the sound connoting more emotional unsteadiness than his words ever will.

 

“Figures.” He mutters, and when Jin makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat, he elaborates. “We’re pretty much here for the same thing.”

 

Jin nods. This is hardly unexpected, and although he is curious to know Hwoarang’s exact motivations, he also doesn’t want to pry. It would be unfair to push him at this point.

 

Hwoarang seems to have other ideas, though, because he snorts derisively to himself before speaking again.

 

“That...fucking _monster_ killed the closest thing I had to a father.” He admits, an unfamiliar venom in his voice when he mentions Toshin that sends uncomfortable shivers down Jin’s spine. “Took me in, looked after me when no one else would or wanted to...pretty much taught me everything I know. He was all I had, in a lot of ways. So...yeah. I get where you’re coming from.”

 

Jin’s heart aches, and he wants to reach out to him, but he fears upsetting this delicate balance they’ve set in bearing their souls to each other. He isn’t sure what’s too much, what’s a step too far in the wrong direction – they’ve made a lot of progress and they’ve been closer to each other before, but the circumstances had practically demanded it. This is...different, even if he doesn’t want it to be.

 

It also brings up a painfully obvious point, something that Jin can feel lingering between them even now. With these admissions, they’ve confirmed to the other that they have vital stakes in this tournament – more importantly, they’ve revealed what those stakes are, making it that much harder to handle in the field of battle. It’s a touchy subject, rife with hurt and potential damage, but Jin knows they have to address it now.

 

If he doesn’t at least try, then it’ll be too late.

 

“...we’re bound to face each other in the tournament soon.” Jin says softly. Hwoarang nods, still looking at the floor.

 

“Yeah. And only one of us can win.”

 

So he knows. The resignation in his voice only confirms it. It’s intimidating, but somehow, it also inspires Jin to continue.

 

“Can we promise...not to get angry?” He asks hesitantly. Hwoarang still won’t look at him, but he tilts his head, considering.

 

“Whichever one of us loses?”

 

Jin nods. Hwoarang remains silent for several seconds, then sighs, his whole body deflating.

 

“...yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

 

Something tight in Jin’s chest comes undone at his words, and he exhales with relief.

 

“I’m glad you understand.” He says earnestly. Hwoarang rubs the back of his head, seemingly caught a little off-guard by Jin’s genuine emotion in this tense situation.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just. I don’t know. Not think about it until it happens, I guess?” He suggests, more like his usual self, and Jin nods.

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“Cool.”

 

They sit there in silence for a few moments before Hwoarang sighs again, bumping Jin lightly with his shoulder in an echo of the day before.

 

“Sorry for getting weird there.” He says softly. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, but – I don’t know. That was unfair of me.”

 

“It’s okay.” Jin murmurs, nudging him in return, trying to convey his feelings by doing so. “It’s tough to talk about.”

 

Hwoarang makes a little noise in the back of his throat, shifting over slightly so he’s actually leaning on Jin this time. It’s only for a few seconds, and the pressure is barely there, but Jin is suddenly overcome with emotion. _I’m sorry. I don’t want this to come between us. You’re still my friend. I trust you, and I hope you trust me, too._

 

“Hey.” Jin says quietly. Hwoarang hums in acknowledgement. “...thank you.”

 

Hwoarang says nothing – doesn’t ask what Jin means, doesn’t verbalize a response – but he does push against him a little more firmly, and that’s enough. Jin smiles.

 

“See you tomorrow?” Hwoarang asks, his voice soft. Jin nods.

 

“Yeah. You going to sleep?”

 

“I should,” Hwoarang admits, getting up off the bed. “I think I need the rest after today.”

 

“Alright.” Jin watches him as he moves, grabbing his headband off the table and putting his gear into his bag. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want him to leave – he just wants him to stay here, maybe talk about more things. Maybe just sit together for a while. But responsibility comes first this time around, and when Hwoarang flicks his hand in a little wave goodbye on his way out the door, Jin only waves back. The lock clicks into place behind him, and then he is alone.

 

Jin sighs, the day’s emotional toll beginning to make itself known. He feels exhausted, and did he – did he even eat today after earlier this morning? _Yikes_. The problem is that he isn’t hungry now...he can probably make something later. Right now, he’s more tired than he is anything else, and he would really like to go to bed.

 

With any luck, he’ll be too drained to even think.

 

Jin makes his way to his backpack, digging out a clean T-shirt to sleep in before realizing that, in addition to not eating, he also hasn’t showered since this morning. He can’t get into bed while he isn’t clean, can he...? Maybe a shower will help him feel better, though. It would certainly do something to relieve the ache in his muscles, which is a little more prominent at the moment because he hadn’t stopped to do any cooldown exercises before bolting to catch Hwoarang’s fight earlier. _Yikes again_. He really has been all over the place today.

 

With the nonstop nature of the day being firmly established, he isn’t surprised by the fact that he forgets to bring a pair of clean underwear with him into the bathroom. Huffing in exasperation, he returns to the main room, setting his backpack on his bed to make sure he gets everything he needs this time.

 

The last thing he’s aware of is outside air and something flickering in his senses. A reaction that isn't fast enough. A sharp blow to the back of the head.

 

After that, all he knows is darkness.

 


	9. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of rehearsal and posts this before passing out in a dumpster*
> 
> (Happy late Valentine's Day, everyone)

Jolting into wakefulness is something that Jin, what with his relatively constant nightmares, is somewhat accustomed to.

 

What he is emphatically _not_ accustomed to is jerking forward so hard that he upends himself and falls out of bed.

 

Jin groans, righting himself with no small amount of discomfort, aching in more places than he has the wherewithal to count. Things only get worse when he opens his eyes and realizes that he is not in bed, is not even in a bed _room_ , and, in fact, has absolutely no idea where he is. Where...where is he? Is this...is this an _airplane?_  

 

He shoots to his feet, whirling to observe his surroundings. This is definitely a plane’s cabin, a private plane’s cabin at that, so how the hell did he get here? The last thing he remembers is going to take a shower – no, he was _going_ to take a shower, but then someone broke into his hotel room and knocked him out!

 

_Wait a second._

Jin frowns, his surroundings finally beginning to process. He knows where he is. He knows this interior, he’s seen it a million times. But he’s never been on a plane before, not unless it’s –

 

 _Oh, gods_.

 

This is one of Lee’s planes.

 

His knees weaken and he collapses back into the seat, staring blankly around the cabin as he tries to wrap his head around his current situation. He supposes it’s relieving that he hasn’t been kidnapped or captured by some unknown enemy force, but...well. Jin doesn’t know how reassuring that fact really is, all things considered at this point in time. There’s just no way that Lee isn’t angry at him.

 

What’s worse is that Jin doesn’t even know if he’s ready to face him yet. He’d been saving that particular mental breakdown for _after_ the tournament was over, mostly because he knew that he’d never be able to handle the possibility that he might have nowhere to go. It’s obviously a pointless line of thinking, though, because he’s here now. On one of Lee’s planes. Dreading the inevitable confrontation and hoping against hope that Lee hasn’t brought him here just to denounce him.

 

As if to provide an answer to his questions and deny his half-formed wishes, there’s a sound from the cockpit, and then the cabin door clicks as it opens. _Ah_. Jin ducks his head, staring firmly at the floor. Time to find out just how angry his guardian really is.

 

His footsteps along the carpet are almost silent, and he crosses the short distance between the door and Jin’s seat in way too little time for his liking. He comes to a stop just before him, slightly to his right, plenty of space left between them but somehow not nearly enough. Jin swallows. He doesn’t know what this feeling that’s permeating the cabin’s interior is, but he doesn’t like it.

 

Lee clears his throat. “You’re awake, then?”

 

Jin nods, keeping his eyes on his guardian’s shoes. They’re not his usual business attire – just a simple pair of boots, it looks like, black and unassuming.

 

“I had some people come and pick you up. I apologize if the methods they used were alarming in any way.”

 

Jin nods again, trying not to read too much into the strictly neutral tone that his guardian is using right now. That voice can mean a lot of things, none of which are usually good.

 

In front of him, Lee shifts, and Jin watches the weight change with trepidation. When his guardian speaks again, though, it surprises him.

 

“...are you alright?”

 

His voice isn’t as stern this time, and although it isn’t by much, Jin is familiar enough with the nuances to know the difference. That’s...that’s a good place to start. Even if he’s in trouble, Lee still cares about his safety. He’s still looking after him. He’s still trying to do what’s best for him. Jin is so relieved by this understanding that he actually looks up, intending on smiling or something to reassure the man that he’s okay, and it takes him a moment to realize that Lee is waiting for him to speak.

 

It takes him another moment to realize that Lee is _pissed_.

 

It’s not overt, not like it had been with Hwoarang whenever something would make him angry. Nothing with Lee ever is – he’s always so clean, so composed, such a textbook definition of poised even when he’s just been kicked in the face. It’s the little things with Lee, but after knowing him for long, Jin can see them.

 

Right now, though, he wishes more than anything that he couldn’t.

 

Every muscle in Lee’s body is strung taut, almost like he’s using his own skin to contain whatever emotion – anger, disappointment, contempt, an unholy combination of all three – he must be feeling right now. His face betrays nothing, but his jaw is tight, and his body language is just shy of being threatening as he stands unmoving in front of Jin’s chair, his arms crossed rigidly over his chest. Worst of all are his eyes, which are devoid of all expression when Jin looks into them – no fury, no concern, nothing. Empty and cold. He shivers.

 

“...I’m sorry.” Jin mumbles, ducking his head. It’s all he can really say, all he can really offer in the hopes of making this any less painful for both of them. He can only pray that it’ll be enough, or at least be a good enough start for the imminent “I’m so disappointed in you” conversation that Jin knows he deserves. He’s this close to wishing he would just disappear into the upholstery when Lee sighs, the sound gusting over the tension between them. Jin chances another look.

 

“I just really wish you hadn’t done it.” Lee says, but more important than his words is the fact that his expression has thawed out into something significantly less terrifying. Jin relaxes.

 

“...yeah.” He says hesitantly. Lee shakes his head, eyebrows knitting together in concern and exasperation.

 

“Just. Tell me why.”

 

Here, Jin falters. He doesn’t know what he should say. There’s a right answer and a wrong answer, but the problem is that he isn’t sure which one is which. Anything he says is rightfully liable to tick Lee off, but at least maybe he can minimize any long-term problems by being honest.

 

“...I found out that Toshin was there.” Jin admits. “I...I ran across the files you had in your room on accident.”

 

“Yeah, I figured that when I found them on the floor.” Lee says wryly, and Jin flushes with shame. _Right_. He had left everything a mess in his haste to get to the tournament. “But go on.”

 

“Right, so...yeah. I wanted to fight it. So...I went.” Jin says nervously. “There isn’t much else to it, I guess.”

 

Lee sighs again, albeit less dramatically this time. “And that pretty much sums up the amount of thought you put into it, huh?”

 

Jin hunches his shoulders, feeling even smaller than before. What can he even say to that? Confirm Lee’s suspicions and prove once and for all that he’s an idiot? Lie and potentially set him off because he already knows that Jin didn’t really think this through? This is all bad, and he has no way out.

 

“...yeah.”

 

His guardian shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking as though he’s on the verge of insulting him. Jin almost wishes that he would – he feels like he deserves it, even though he also doesn’t regret what he’s done.

 

It hits him then, all at once. He _doesn’t_ regret what he’s done, not at all. Despite his purpose for attending never coming to fruition, he still went and tried his best. He still did something on his own and almost succeeded. He learned a lot, sharpened his skills, broadened his horizons.

 

He met Hwoarang.

 

All of that means something, even if he never got to defeat Toshin like he wanted to. So much came out of the experience that he simply can’t say that he regrets it, even if he does feel guilty for worrying his guardian. All of it is important to him. And none of it would’ve happened if he’d stayed put like he was supposed to.

 

Lee exhales slowly, obviously trying to settle himself.

 

“...you shouldn’t have done it.” He finally says, affixing Jin with a stern glare. “It can’t be changed now, but you shouldn’t have done it.”

 

Jin ducks his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

“And you will never do it again, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes.” Jin is very careful to leave off the “sir” that he so very badly wants to add on right now. “I understand.”

 

Lee nods, the gesture one of seeming satisfaction, but Jin can sense the lingering darkness on him. He’s angry, worried, hurt – there’s a strong undercurrent of _uneasiness_ , of all things, which strikes Jin as strange. The only time Jin has ever seen Lee nervous is when he’s in a bad mental state and trying to hide it, which is...not often. This is completely different, and Jin quickly finds that he doesn’t like it. It’s all wrong.

 

“...are you alright?” Jin asks hesitantly. Lee blinks at him.

 

“What brought that on?” He asks, voice neutral again, making Jin wonder if this is even a line of inquiry he should pursue. Still, he continues – he _does_ want to know how he’s feeling, after all.

 

“I’m worried about you.” He replies. “You’re really...tense. Upset. I’m sorry.”

 

Lee shrugs, waving his hand at the apology. “I’ll be fine. And you already said you were sorry, so there’s no need to say it again.”

 

Something about his dismissive tone doesn’t sit well with Jin, and he frowns, trying and failing to pinpoint where the sense of unpleasantness is coming from.

 

“Aren’t you going to yell at me?” He asks instead, and Lee’s brow furrows.

 

“Why would I do that?” Another thought seems to occur to him and his concern becomes more pronounced. “Did you expect me to?”

 

“Not really, no.” Jin admits hastily. “You’ve never done that sort of thing. I just thought that maybe you would be so angry with me that you might want to this time.”

 

Lee shakes his head, seemingly disturbed by the idea. “No. Not at all.”

 

They lapse into silence, both at something of a loss about how to continue. Lee doesn’t go back to the cockpit, so he clearly isn’t done, but it’s obvious that he’s having trouble putting the words together. For his part, Jin tries to struggle through the atmosphere of the small cabin, hoping to glean some sort of deeper understanding about his guardian’s current mental state. How is he really feeling? Why is he thinking so hard?

 

Because beyond that, there’s...something else. Jin has questions of his own, just a few things that he wishes he could have answers to, and if he had to be picky, he knows which one he would choose.

 

He would ask why Lee kept the tournament – and Toshin, by extension – a secret.

 

He knows it isn’t just the obvious answer, that Lee wanted to keep him safe and prevent him from doing something stupid. That much is clear from his behavior now, from the fact that Heihachi Mishima’s name was written all over the event. The secrets that Lee has piled up in closets and hidden panels are threatening to come spilling out, and Jin just _knows_ that it’s all connected somehow.

 

Maybe that’s why he’s so uneasy right now. Maybe he’s afraid that Jin found something out, that he learned something Lee hadn’t wanted him to know. Maybe he’s expecting Jin to ask those questions – the hard ones, the ones that he can’t answer without giving too much away. Normally, he would never press the matter. He’d never had a need to.

 

But the world is bigger than just the two of them, and after all of that – after all of _this_ – he feels as though he deserves to at least know _something_.

 

So he asks him.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

 

Lee stares at him uncomprehendingly for several long seconds, his mouth falling open slightly. He looks completely disarmed by the question, and for a moment, Jin regrets saying anything at all.

 

Still. Lee basically had him kidnapped to get him out of something he went to on his own free will. The source of such paranoia warrants at least a simple explanation.

 

“About what?” Lee manages eventually, voice only slightly strained.

 

“About the tournament.”

 

His guardian’s brow furrows slightly, mouth pressing into a thin line, but he says nothing. Jin pushes a little bit more.

 

“Toshin was there, and you promised me that you would help me find it. That you would train me to fight it. I had a right to know – why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Jin,” Lee starts, but something in Jin’s expression must make him change his mind about what he was planning on telling him. “...these things are more complicated than they seem.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jin repeats, not having it this time. Lee’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, seemingly in shock, but he stands his ground.

 

“I was...planning on it.” He says slowly, but it isn’t convincing. He’s too tired, too vulnerable, too unbalanced – they both are. Lee isn’t as good at this as he usually is and Jin isn’t willing to put up with it anymore.

 

“When?” Jin demands, frustrated. “After the tournament was over? After someone else had defeated it instead?”

 

“Jin – ”

 

“ _Well?_ ”

 

“Could you blame me if I had?” Lee bites out. “I had every right to keep something that dangerous from you.”

 

“You _knew_ how much it meant to me.” Jin snaps back, voice heated. “You still do! I had a chance – why would you keep me from taking it?”

 

“Is that really so hard to figure out?” Lee asks exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Really? That thing ran around murdering people just because it could, and you’re asking me why I would’ve kept you from facing it?”

 

“I wanted to fight it!” Jin insists, matching his guardian’s mounting intensity. “Isn’t that why I’m still here?”

 

“That is _absolutely not why you’re still here_.”

 

“Maybe not to you, but it is to me.” Jin grips the armrests of his chair, barely restraining himself from standing and getting into Lee’s face. “It’s what I want. Why else would I have trained so hard all this time?”

 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Lee exclaims, moving restlessly in an agitated attempt at pacing in the small cabin space. “Do you _want_ to die? Are you out of your mind?!”

 

“I had to do it!”

 

“No, you most certainly did _not!_ ”

 

“You don’t understand – ”

 

“Jin, it doesn’t _matter_. Those tournaments are _death traps_ , and you were this close to getting caught! Believe me, I know what happens there, especially to people like you! I told you to stay away from Heihachi Mishima, and yet you went anyway? Attending a tournament that he was hosting? I ask again, are you out of your mind?”

 

“I had to do it.” Jin repeats stubbornly, and Lee lets out a wordless sound of aggravation. “Is that not a choice I’m allowed to make?”

 

“You can make the choice all you want, but that doesn’t make it a good one!”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Well, you _should!_ You can’t just expect me to sit by idly while you run off and kill yourself just to see if you’re stronger than some murder monster – ”

 

“ _I have better reasons than that_.”

 

“And _what_ , pray the fuck tell, might those better reasons be, Jin Kazama?”

 

“I had to avenge my mother!” Jin shouts. At this, Lee finally pauses, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and all the energy building in the cabin comes to a sudden halt.

 

“Is that really what you want to go with?”

 

There is a warning in his voice that Jin normally knows better than to ignore, but at the moment, he’s too frustrated to care.

 

“Yes. It is.”

 

Silence. Lee covers his eyes with his hand, Jin gets all of ten seconds to feel like he’s in control before his guardian evidently decides that it’s time to take him down.

 

“Interesting.”

 

The softly spoken word drips like ice down Jin’s spine, and suddenly, his misstep shows itself for what it truly is: a grave error. Lee’s entire demeanor has slid right out of “justifiably disciplinary” and straight into “frozen hellscape”, and Jin. Well. He has no idea what to do about that, no idea how to handle it at all. In all their time together, Lee has never really gotten _angry_ with him – _hell_ , Jin has never really seen him angry at all. Annoyed, maybe (although never at him), frustrated by the general incompetency of some associates and occasionally moody about something or other that Jin couldn’t possibly understand, but _angry_? He’d thought he was mad earlier, but clearly, that was merely another layer to his true form. This silent, shaking, _glacial_ fury? This is something entirely new, and for all of his convictions, Jin regrets everything that has led up to this moment.

 

“Wait,” He tries, but Lee shakes his head and laughs, the sound low and threatening. Jin’s entire system goes haywire, and he fights the primal urge to forcibly launch himself through the cabin window.

 

“No, no.” Lee says, speaking from behind his hand, a razor-sharp edge to his deceptively flat tone that has Jin’s skin crawling. “I understood you just fine. Jin Kazama, the little hero – Jin Kazama, the well-intentioned _idiot_ who couldn’t keep a single warning he’d ever received in mind when making the stupidest decision of his entire life. Who are you avenging? Your dear mother? Oh, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to watch you get ripped to pieces – and even if you survived by some goddamned cursed miracle, there’s _no way_ that Heihachi would let you live, not after that. Not a chance.”

 

Jin attempts once more to intervene, but Lee cuts him off before he can even get a word out, raising his head and glaring at him with deadliness in his eyes.

 

“But no, let’s go through this, shall we? You and I made a deal years ago. You’d live under my roof and keep out of trouble, and in return I would train you and help you find Toshin. Simple enough, hardly a problem – but do you really think four years is enough to battle a literal fighting _god_ when men who’ve been fighting their entire lives were brought down by him?”

 

“Even then, even if you’re strong enough – and you might be, but I don’t care – the plan was to get you there _on my terms_. _With my jurisdiction_. Not for you to explicitly ignore _everything I ever said to you_ and just. Go! Without telling me! Without even – _gods_ , Jin, did you not understand when I told you that Heihachi Mishima was dangerous? Did you think I was kidding? Are you really that fucking _dense_ that you can’t tell when someone is practically begging you not to do something?”

 

Lee’s words continue to rise in volume and in fury, and Jin can only watch as his guardian slowly unravels in front of him.

 

“And beyond even that, Jin, I let you in on the strict condition that you would learn what I taught you, that you – that you would stay out of trouble! That you – you needed to – I didn’t look after you for four years so you could arbitrarily decide that you didn’t want my help anymore, Jin! I told you we could help each other, and I expected you to try! Not wait until my back was turned and take what you needed!”

 

“But no, instead, you – you – _gah!_ You sneak around while I’m not there, you ignore my warnings, you _betray my trust_ _in you_ – Jin. And you tell me this was _vengeance?_ You would turn your back on all of this and die with fucking _vengeance_ as your last wish?”

 

“That’s how people get killed, Jin, and not just you! Everyone! It never works, it never will – I told you it was stupid, that it was dangerous, that you deserved a better life than one dictated by those empty laws, and yet you _fucking did it anyway_. You didn’t listen to me, all you could think about was your own ambitions, and you put yourself in danger for no better reason than to – to – _gods!_ ”

 

His voice breaks on the last word and Jin starts at the sound of it. It’s the least composed Jin has ever seen him, somewhere on the verge of hysteria and blind fury, staggering back and forth between the two and some unidentified third emotion that Jin can’t even fathom at the moment. Something about all of this has clearly struck a deeply sensitive nerve with him, something that Jin had never managed to detect until now.

 

Lee’s face is hidden from him again, but Jin can still see him shaking. In this broken state, the man is completely unknown, yet somehow deeply familiar. He knows it from himself, from his own demons and his particular brand of personal darkness – he knows it from long, sleepless nights spent alone, trembling and silent, desperate to understand just why he had to see the things he’d seen. Lee stands before him now and Jin remembers all of that, except somehow it’s worse because he’d never expected to see it from him.

 

He’d always known that Lee’s advice had come from experience. He’d _always_ known that, so how could he have forgotten?

 

His guardian takes a deep breath, breaking the silence, clearly trying to calm himself despite his obvious distress.

 

“We have eleven hours of flight-time left.” He says, not looking at Jin. His voice is unsteady. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”

 

With that, Lee turns on his heel and exits the cabin as soundlessly as he’d entered it, unreachable once more. Despite how much he wishes to try something – to reach out, to apologize again, who the hell knows at this point – there really isn’t much else for Jin to do but take his shortly given advice and settle in as best as he can manage. Eleven hours is a long time, after all.

 

Still. Jin leans forward, burying his face in his hands. He doesn’t know if he even has the wherewithal to cry right now, still too stunned by what just transpired to really be feeling much of anything else, but it would probably help if he could.

 

_What the hell just happened?_

 

* * *

 

Jin alternates between sleeping uneasily and brooding for the entire remainder of the flight, all the while dreading the moment of departure when he’ll be forced to face Lee once more. When the moment does come, though, his guardian barely even acknowledges him.

 

“Go to your room. I’ll be there in a moment.” His voice is curt, and Jin obeys him without answering. His own rage and confusion from earlier has left him entirely, leaving nothing but exhaustion and shame behind. He’s never seen his guardian so angry, so cold, so utterly destroyed – it’s frightening and upsetting and _gods_ does Jin ever feel like an idiot right now.

 

Still, a little part of him is relieved to see his room again. He showers, changes, flops into bed, and tries to will himself into a calmer state of mind. He might as well be trying to will himself into the mattress with how well that’s going, but he has to at least _try_.

 

It doesn’t help that, for all the time he’d had to think on the plane, his thoughts are still running a mile a minute. Will he and his guardian be able to salvage this? Will Lee ever open up to him about this kind of thing? What will things be like between them now? What will happen for the rest of the tournament? Hwoarang is still in it – does he have a chance of making it all the way to the end? Does he –

 

 _No_. Jin squeezes his eyes shut, too frightened to even entertain the possibility. _Please don’t let him make it to Toshin._ He feels horrible for thinking such things, especially after Hwoarang had just professed how important it was to him, but he just can’t risk losing him. He hopes Hwoarang can forgive him for it.

 

Fortunately, he doesn’t get to wallow for long – shortly after the thought crosses his mind, he hears a knock at his bedroom door. _Ah. Time’s up_. Jin swallows, sending his mother a silent prayer for guidance as he goes to answer it.

 

Lee clearly hasn’t done much settling since he got home, as he’s still wearing the same black turtleneck and dark pants that he’d had on earlier. The shade contrasts sharply with his skin, which looks worryingly pale in comparison – that, coupled with his drawn, distant expression only serves to make him look more exhausted than Jin has ever seen him. Not that he can really catch it all in exact details, though, seeing as neither of them appear willing to look each other in the eyes.

 

The silence Jin expects. The hug, though, he most certainly does not.

 

Jin freezes, momentarily stunned, as Lee just holds him tightly, one hand resting delicately on the back of his head in what Jin has come to know as a comforting gesture. He feels the warmth of his body, the strange tremor that runs through him when he inhales, the hesitance coding what he’s doing even though he doesn’t seem inclined to let go just yet.

 

Which is good, because Jin doesn’t want him to. After the initial surprise wears off, Jin returns the embrace, careful not to squeeze the other man too hard as he throws his arms around him and buries his face in his shoulder. His shirt is soft, and it smells like his clothes usually do, clean and sharp with just the slightest hints of cotton and lavender. The recognition, even of something that simple, feels good.

 

It feels like coming home.

 

“Do you know how hard it was to plan that extraction?” Lee murmurs after a moment, his voice strangely tight, and Jin blinks. Oh. _Oh_. “Did you even think of what would happen when I realized you were gone?”

 

Jin had _scared_ him.

 

Jin had scared _Lee fucking Chaolan_. He hadn’t even known it was possible.

 

“I’m sorry,” he tries, but Lee shakes his head, soft hair brushing against Jin’s cheek.

 

“I know – I’m sorry, too.” A pause. “Just don’t do it again. Not something like that. Please?”

 

Jin nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the day’s emotions come back to him. The tension, the fear, the strange, unidentified emotions lurking just underneath their skin – experiencing all of that has left him exhausted, and right now he wants nothing more than to stay like this forever.

 

Unfortunately, such is not to pass, and he eventually feels Lee shift within his grasp. Jin releases him immediately, trying not to seem too disappointed, only to have the negative sentiment shift to surprise when his guardian tugs at his sleeve while he moves past him to sit on the edge of Jin’s bed.

 

“Come here, little one.” Lee says, indicating the open mattress space with a nod of his head. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

 

Jin doesn’t waste a second in crawling into bed beside him, settling himself in Lee’s lap like he always does, relieved beyond words at the calming sensation that the familiarity of it all instills in him. His guardian immediately sets to work petting his hair, and Jin sighs. He really did miss this more than he realized, which is saying something.

 

The silence between them is mostly easy, albeit with a few, unvoiced final statements lingering somewhere in the wings. Jin knows that they could probably wait until tomorrow to address what’s left of their discussion-turned-argument-turned-mental-breakdown from earlier, but there are a few matters that he wouldn’t mind getting some closure on before he tries to sleep tonight.

 

However, it seems as though his guardian has the same idea, because he speaks up first.

 

“I’m sorry for losing my temper with you, Jin.” Lee says quietly, addressing his shorter apology from earlier. “And I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.”

 

Jin shrugs into the mattress, trying to seem nonchalant.

 

“I lost my temper, too. I understand.” He starts, but Lee _tsks_ lightly and taps his forehead in response.

 

“You already apologized twice – there’s no need for you to try and mitigate my wrongdoings as well, you know.” His tone is teasing, but his statement carries an undercurrent of seriousness that Jin knows better than to discount. “You did deserve to know, and...I just didn’t tell you. Didn’t know how, I suppose.”

 

Jin nods, understanding that too. Talking is hard. Articulating your thoughts on things that you hardly understand yourself is even harder, and it makes sense that even Lee has his limits when it comes to healthy communication. Jin knows that that they both have baggage, and few things in life are more difficult than trying to pick and choose what you mention of it to others, even people you trust with everything you are.

 

He wonders if Lee trusts him enough to tell him a little about what happened earlier. He supposes that he may as well try, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, he can just bring it up another time.

 

“Can I ask why what I said upset you so much?” Jin asks, keeping his as voice soft and non-accusatory as possible. “About avenging my mother?”

 

“You can,” Lee replies, although he sounds somewhat hesitant. “I must ask that you give me a moment to...consider my phrasing on the matter. I...I would like you to understand as much as possible.”

 

“That’s okay.” Jin assures him. Lee hums, running his fingers through Jin’s hair to indicate that he’d heard him. He wants to look up at him, wants to study his face again and see if he can find anything in his expression, but he also just wants to...well, _look_ at him. He’s seen him almost every day for the last four years, and Lee had gotten him through some of his weakest moments. When he’d left for the tournament, Jin had missed him, but he’d even missed just _seeing_ him.

 

Despite that, he keeps his gaze averted, alternating between closing his eyes (which isn’t hard, given his current contentment) and looking at the opposite wall. His guardian still seems a little pensive about things, and it would do him no good to unnerve him further with his scrutiny. He’ll just accept his proximity for what it is, which is more than enough for him right now.

 

Soon, he can feel Lee gearing up to speak, a slight shift in demeanor and aura that tips him off into alertness again. Jin waits patiently, not wanting to push him – finally getting some clarification on what they went through today is worth the time spent preparing for it.

 

“This vengeance business isn’t easy, Jin, nor is it in any way wise.” Lee says eventually, and his voice is very, very quiet. “You should avoid it at almost any cost – it’s the kind of thing that’ll consume your life if you’re not careful. Your life, and...everyone else’s around you. You start to forget what else you’re alive for, _who_ else you’re alive for. What you mean to other people. It starts to define who you are, and more often than not, it just gets you killed. Even if it doesn’t, if you get too caught up in it, it just turns you into someone who _should_ get killed.”

 

His voice shakes at the end, but his fingers in Jin’s hair are steady and rhythmic, gentle as ever – the way he touches him, has always touched him, always with such care and attentiveness and comfort, is what really drives the point home.

 

“Please don’t become that person.” Lee continues, the words barely audible now. “You have so many things to live for. You don’t need to fight anyone – not Toshin, not me, not even yourself. Just live, and do it freely. You have that chance. Please...please don’t give it up for something like that. I...”

 

Lee trails off, seemingly unable to finish, and Jin silently wills him to complete his sentence. He could feel an admission coming, something important, some kind of clue, and he _wants_ to know. He wants to understand the man better, to have Lee be comfortable enough with him to confess things the same way Jin does.

 

Abruptly, Lee bows over him. Jin can’t see his face from this angle, but he can feel his hands shaking, and Jin reaches up to take one of them in his own, squeezing it. Lee squeezes back, releasing a shuddery breath as he does so.

 

“I can’t lose you like that, too.” He admits, voice raw, and Jin feels something inside of him ache. Lee is vulnerable right now, almost terrifyingly so, open and fearful in a way that Jin has never witnessed him. It’s gratifying and haunting in equal measure, but nonetheless, he feels guilty for being the one to draw it out of him so dramatically. Even what he’s said leaves a lot to be explained, but for now, it’s more than enough. It’s the same reason why Jin is scared of Hwoarang facing Toshin – he’s already lost someone to something like that. He would do anything to keep it from happening again.

 

“You won’t,” he assures him, even as he feels himself beginning to worry about Hwoarang again now that he’s remembered him. “I promise.”

 

Lee nods, straightening up after a moment and resuming his previous task of petting Jin’s hair. He’s nowhere near as calm as he usually is, but that’s fine. Neither is Jin. Whatever is left to discuss can be done tomorrow.

 

...well, almost whatever else is left.

 

“Can I ask one more thing?” Jin is hesitant to even try, but Lee just hums in distant affirmation. “...do you think anyone at the tournament has a chance of defeating Toshin?”

 

Lee remains silent for a while, seemingly considering the question. Eventually, he asks, “Was a man named Paul Phoenix there?”

 

Jin blinks. “Yes...?”

 

“Then you have nothing to worry about. That man can beat anyone and anything. He’ll take care of Toshin – I guarantee it.”

 

Now it’s Jin’s turn to consider, and the more he does, the more sense it makes. Still, he’s a little surprised by how readily Lee was able to answer the question like that.

 

“Have you met him before?” He asks, but Lee just laughs quietly, shaking his head.

 

“That’s a story for tomorrow, Jin Kazama. You need to rest.”

 

Jin can’t really argue with that. He is very comfortable here, after all, cozy and safe and well-looked after. He definitely feels drowsy after such a long day, and Lee’s excellent hair-petting skills aren’t helping.

 

“...will you stay?”

 

Lee hums, but doesn’t answer him directly.

 

“It’s alright.” He says softly, still stroking his hair. “You’re alright. Just go to sleep, little one.”

 

At this point, Jin can’t really manage much else.

 


	10. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Better to be with the dead
> 
> Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
> 
> Than on the torture of the mind to lie
> 
> In restless ecstasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy am I glad this one's done, it was in production hell for so long that I ended up re-writing the whole thing three times, can you believe it? Yikes. All your grand plans mean nothing if you can't find the right transition paragraph, buddy.
> 
> As a housekeeping note, the YouTube playlist has been organized into four (non-delineated, unfortunately) sections so I can better keep track of which songs help with which relationships. The first three sections are for the story's three key relationships, while the fourth section is still just general mood-setting stuff.
> 
> All of that aside, thank you so much for your patience and encouragement! Take care, everyone!

 

_This is your fault. This is all your fault. You did too much, you didn’t do enough – look at you. Unbelievable. You expect to pull your shit together, yet you can’t even convince a kid to listen to you?_

_Maybe you should’ve left him out there. He could’ve won the whole damn thing easily, you know that. He would’ve been fine, and if he wanted to go live in the real world so damn badly, maybe you should’ve let him. Let him see what it’s really like._

_But no, you couldn’t have. Heaven forbid **you know who** gets a glimpse of him, realizes what he’s looking at. **Who** he’s looking at. _

_And **of course** you couldn’t have left him. You care about him too much, would risk exposure and hell and death just to make sure he’s safe. Are you afraid of what he might become if he’s pushed too hard? Is that why you’re always so soft with him? You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You know perfectly well that he isn’t the monster here, even if he might have what his father had._

_But it’s too late for any of that, so accept it: you’re trapped here forever. You know it’s true. Your memory is too damn good to forget what you need to forget, to move past what should be left behind. Even better, now you’ve gone and dragged him down into it with you. Sure, he went out on his own, but **you’re** the one who fucked it up first. Are you going to tell him what he wants to know? Or are you going to trap him here until he hates you because he’ll never understand just how badly you need to protect him?_

_Congratulations. I hope you’re ready to live through all of it again._

 

* * *

 

 Jin is warm when he awakens, lulled into a sense of safety by soft, familiar sheets and the quiet hum of the air conditioning system. He lets himself drift in a half-awake state for several minutes, enjoying the pervasive calm of the room and savoring this rare moment of peace before Hwoarang comes knocking on his door and the day starts.

 

Not that he minds Hwoarang’s enthusiasm. Far from it, really. They feed off of each other, creating a fantastic feedback loop of endless synergy and passion. It’s such a good feeling, and Jin never wants to be without it – however, getting an extra few seconds to appreciate the relative silence of the early morning is always nice, too.

 

After a while, though, he realizes that he isn’t where he should be. The bed is too comfortable, the ambience too placid – when he opens his eyes, the room itself is simple and clean, and Jin suddenly remembers himself. _Right_. He’s home now, safe in The Bahamas with Lee instead of half a world away at a fighting tournament in Japan with Hwoarang.

 

Lee. Where is Lee? He was here last night when he’d fallen asleep, he’s sure of it. Jin sits up, glancing back at his bed, only to realize after the fact just _why_ he was so warm when he awoke earlier.

 

His guardian is half-slumped sideways on Jin’s many pillows, arms crossed loosely over his stomach and...oh, _ew_ , there’s a small patch of drool on his pant leg from where Jin must’ve been laying on his thigh. _Oops_. He looks completely relaxed, something that Jin doesn’t see often, but more important than that is the fact that he’s _here_. He _stayed_ last night, let Jin fall asleep in his lap and then fell asleep himself, not bothering to move so he could avoid disturbing him. It’s such a simple gesture, yet it warms Jin to his very core, makes him feel safe and happy. He almost doesn’t want to wake him up, seeing as he seriously doubts that the man has gotten much sleep since he’s been gone. The fact that he’s managed to wake up before him says that much. In all their years of sharing bed space when Jin is having a hard time, he’s never woken up before Lee, even though Jin is a notoriously early riser.

 

It occurs to him that he’s never really seen him...asleep. Ever. Jin _always_ drifts off before him and wakes up after him, so he misses the four hours or so that Lee actually spends in relative unconsciousness at night. Everything he knows about his guardian’s sleeping patterns are inferred.

 

Now, though, he looks...peaceful. A little younger, if he’s being honest about it. What few lines his face has are erased in the relaxation of sleep and the soft morning light, and the complete lack of any expression lends his countenance a kind of innocence that he’s probably never possessed when conscious, even as a child. Jin can’t see the secret infinities that he holds in his eyes when he’s asleep, so that contributes, too.

 

Even as he watches, though, Lee’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly, and it belatedly occurs to Jin that observing his guardian so intently had probably been more than enough to rouse him. _Oops_. Lee cracks open one eye, a small smirk already playing on his lips.

 

“Good morning, little one.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, which is slightly rougher than usual, and Jin flushes at being caught. “How long have you been awake?”

 

“Not long.” Jin says somewhat sheepishly, and Lee chuckles, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “I didn’t want to wake you. I thought you could use the sleep.”

 

“Well.” Lee stretches, making a face when something in his back pops. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s probably for the best that we get the day started, yes? We have a lot of work to do.”

 

Jin likes the sound of that. After everything that happened, both at the tournament and after, he has so many questions that he almost can’t remember them all. Maybe he can use Lee’s databases to get the information he wants without having to ask the man directly...?

 

“Do you have something in mind?” He inquires, and Lee winks at him.

 

“Don’t I always?”

 

Jin blinks, not expecting that much enthusiasm. “I...yes?”

 

Lee laughs quietly, amused by his bewilderment. “Do you have any input on how you want to handle this?”

 

Jin gives him a quizzical look. “Handle what?”

 

“I know you have questions after the tournament,” Lee says breezily, although his aura is suddenly anything but. “Fighters you met. Rumors you heard. If there’s another one, you’ll probably want to go back, right?”

 

Jin stares at him, wondering where all of this calm acceptance came from. He’d wondered if discussing the tournament was possible after how he’d handled it last night, but this is completely beyond that. Just how much time had Lee spent mulling over this instead of resting?

 

“I...I guess? Yes?” Jin replies. “What...what about you?”

 

Lee hums, but takes his time elaborating, seemingly debating what to say next. He resolutely will not meet his gaze, so Jin studies the sheets he’s nervously balled in his fists instead, mind still spinning slightly from his guardian’s seeming change of heart.

 

“Go eat breakfast, then meet me in the computer room in half an hour.” He finally replies, a stubbornly insistent note of resignation catching in his otherwise calm voice. “We have a lot of work to do.”

 

He keeps saying that. It’s almost making him nervous.

 

“What about my training?” Jin asks, wondering about his usual regiment. Lee obviously still has more to teach him, and now that he’s home again, it should be business as usual. At least, he’s _assuming_ it’s business as usual.

 

“This is...part of that.” Lee says, only hesitating slightly. “You’ll have plenty of time for the physical practice later.”

 

“...and my questions?” Jin ventures. Lee sighs, but relents.

 

“Write them down. That’ll help you remember them and give me time to figure out how to answer them properly.”

 

Well. He doesn’t seem keen on it, but it’s definitely a better answer than Jin was expecting.

 

“Okay.” He considers everything for a moment, then pushes on, keeping his voice low. “You know, you...you don’t have to do this.”

 

Lee finally looks at him, and for an instant, Jin swears he sees real apprehension in his eyes. Then he blinks and the errant emotion is gone, replaced by even neutrality, leaving nothing but a reluctant sensation of surrender behind.

 

“Yes, I do.” His voice is quiet. “If I don’t, then who will?”

 

With that, Lee departs, closing the door quietly on his way out. Jin is left in his bedroom alone, wondering if that was supposed to be acceptance or a warning.

 

* * *

 

_This is all your fault._

 

The plan is to shut Jin up with some visual data. If he supplements enough of the questions he inevitably cannot (will not) answer with footage of some of the other key fighters from the previous two tournaments, that should probably provide a sufficient (albeit somewhat temporary) distraction from Jin’s dogged insistence. He will undoubtedly be intrigued, especially since Lee is aware of what the third tournament’s roster was and who will therefore be directly relevant to his experience.

 

That’s the plan, but damn is it hard. It doesn’t help that most of the things he is touching right now have not even been _seen_ in at least a decade, let alone _used_.

 

Lee wanders through the space behind his office, fingers running along faded labels of names and dates that haven’t mattered for years. Stacks of cassette tapes, of VHS tapes, of files and discs and seemingly innocuous things that turn his stomach on sight. There’s a whole world of information hidden within the panels and secret rooms of this house, an entire universe of things he wanted to forget, to get rid of, to move on from, but couldn’t. He didn’t have to save this shit. He didn’t have to go out of his way to collect it, to stockpile it, to amass all this data that he didn’t and would never need, but. It’s much too late for that.

 

_You did too much, you didn’t do enough – look at you. Unbelievable. You expect to pull your shit together like this?_

 

He doesn’t like to come back here. It shows in the room’s cluttered organization, in the distinct sense of the space having been made just to hold things that should never be touched. In unsettles him to know what he’s here for, and he has the sinking suspicion that he won’t be sleeping without some sort of aid for a while after this.

 

As if he’d gotten any sleep at all while Jin was gone.

 

_Heaven forbid **you know who** gets a glimpse of him, realizes what he’s looking at. **Who** he’s looking at. _

 

Jin has always made him come back to things he swore he would never return to, and this...this _shit_ has obviously never been an exception. Jin himself is a break in his own rules, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. The decision to teach Jin Mishima-style karate had been a bold one on his part (not to mention a stupid one) but it had just seemed...fitting, somehow. At the time, he’d mostly thought that it would be funny to sully the style’s reputation by even daring to learn it at all _and_ _then_ having the audacity to teach it by proxy to Kazuya’s illegitimate son, but that had been about where his consideration had stopped. He hadn’t really taken the time to realize just how much work it would require, how much of his memory he would have to turn over, how much data he would have to consume.

 

How many times he would have to watch old tapes of both Kazuya and Heihachi just to get the moves right.

 

Foolishly, stupidly, _selfishly_ he’d thought that he could keep Jin in the dark. He’d thought it all through, what he would tell him, what he wouldn’t. Jin had already known enough when he’d first come to live with him, and what little Lee had supplied him with was only to keep him from finding out more. Lee had gotten lucky that the boy’s mother – _his fucking mother_ – hadn’t told him everything, although he could easily imagine a world where she had. He’d gotten lucky that he’d found Jin. In that respect, Jin had gotten lucky, too, because his only other choice at the time had been Heihachi.

_You care about him too much. Don’t you remember how dangerous that is?_

 

“Focus,” Lee hisses aloud, sucking in a breath between his teeth. He can already feel one of those stress headaches coming. The sooner he collects this shit for Jin, the sooner he can find something else to think about.

 

What a fucking joke.

 

Leaving some extra tapes with Jin might be a good idea, just so he can do some digging on his own time...make him feel like he’s getting some work done without Lee’s constant supervision. If he can keep him busy, maybe he won’t feel the need to get in too deep. Lee eyes the stacks critically, scanning the labels to try and find a set with relevant content that won’t also have any...bonus content. The _last_ thing he needs is to see any of his old training tapes with Kazuya...heavens, the kinds of questions that would raise...

 

Even with Jin having next to no context about Kazuya – and Lee _still_ intends on keeping it that way, thank you very much – the kid has good instincts. He knows when strange things are happening, and everything related to the Mishima family is no exception. Lee is going to have to tread very carefully here if he wants to avoid an incident. Deciding what to tell him is definitely going to be the hardest part. That, and keeping him from finding out what won’t do him any good.

 

Jin doesn’t need to know all the other shit. It’ll just weigh on him, drive him to distraction. Draw him into the hell that Lee has been trying to get out of for the last twenty years. He doesn’t _want_ Jin to have to live with that. That’s been the point this entire fucking time. The kid already has enough to have nightmares about, and the last thing this world needs is another fucking demon child wanting to –

 

_Are you afraid of what he might become if he’s pushed too hard?_

 

He finds a stack of tapes that seems to meet his self-imposed stipulations and leverages it out, placing the set on one of the unused desks. Some stuff about Phoenix, some stuff about Law...maybe some footage of Michelle and Yoshimitsu, too. After a moment of deliberation, Lee relents and adds one of Nina’s battle tapes as well, knowing that the frigid bitch is still in action. Of course, if he’s putting her on the list, he may as well include her awful sister, too...

 

Lee frowns, hunting through what little footage he has of the second tournament. The first tournament had been easy to collect retroactively, especially with all the time he’d spent within the inner systems of the Zaibatsu afterwards, but the aftermath of the second tournament hadn’t offered him much time to pull the data together. A majority of what he had on hand had come from outside sources rather than the Zaibatsu itself, the latter of which he preferred. He’d stolen a lot from the databases there while he could – there’s a lot that Heihachi will never know, not that it matters.

 

Not that _any_ of it fucking matters.

 

He locates some half-decent footage of Lei and Baek and reluctantly adds both sets to the pile, knowing that the silly cop would never have passed up the opportunity to try and get some dirt on Heihachi and that Jin probably met him at the third tournament. As for the Taekwondo fighter, it’s a shot in the dark, but Lee had noticed that several individuals who joined the tournament used that style. It couldn’t hurt. The more the kid has to work through, the more time Lee has to collect his thoughts.

 

After more searching, he finally uncovers what he was actually looking for: the only footage he possesses of Jun Kazama. It’s one measly tape, which is just. Pathetic, even if the woman _was_ damn near impossible to catch on camera. She never trained at the facilities that the Zaibatsu had provided for participants in the tournament, either, so literally all Lee has is a compilation of her matches from the tournament. It’s goddamn embarrassing from an informant’s perspective, honestly, but it’s something. He hopes that Jin will like it.

 

_Is that why you’re always so soft with him?_

 

He’s glad that the necessary tapes of Kazuya and Heihachi are already in the computer room so he doesn’t have to parse through any of...this shit. _Although_...Lee arches an eyebrow, studying the stacks. He supposes that a few more pre-tournament tapes of Kazuya wouldn’t hurt. Jin might even be able to use them for training on his own if he were so inclined.

 

... _fine_. He picks through a few of them, then grabs the two with the earliest dates and sets them resolutely on the desk. _Those should be safe._

 

_You’re such a fucking hypocrite._

 

Lee sighs, hiding his face in his hands for a moment. _Is this really something I can do?_ Can he really dredge all this old shit up, and can he really keep dragging Jin down into it with him? If he doesn’t do it now, will someone else do it later? Would Jin be able to handle that? Is that a risk he can take?

_You know perfectly well that he isn’t the monster here._

 

Now that Jin’s gotten a sense for how big the world really is, Lee knows that it’s only a matter of time. Before what, exactly, he isn’t entirely sure, but the threat of it is enough. Jin’s vulnerabilities are of the easily-exploitable variety, and anything Lee can do to keep that from happening, the better.

 

_“Isn’t that why I’m still here?”_

 

To be looked in the eyes by the child he’s been safeguarding for the last four years – to be glared at by that lost, earnest, gentle child who spent hours in the garden and always made him tea and sometimes cuddled in his bed at night – and be asked a question like that is beyond devastating.

 

_“That is absolutely not why you’re still here.”_

 

Lee had stopped seeing Jin as a project long ago. Even if his initial motivations had been relatively self-serving, his original intentions still would’ve helped Jin grow to become a stronger, more balanced person. He would train him, he would help him, he would keep him safe from a world he would simply be better off not knowing about.

 

He hadn’t meant to get so attached. Maybe that had made it worse.

 

_“Maybe not to you, but it is to me.”_

 

...gods, but this is all Heihachi fucking Mishima’s fault. Stupid, old, stubborn man not dying and staying dead like he was supposed to. _Kazuya killed you, you bastard. You weren’t supposed to come back._

 

As for Kazuya, well. That’s a whole other national archive of bullshit that needs to stay buried, even if the man himself is not. Ashes will do just fine, as well, never mind that Lee gets absolutely no satisfaction from the prospect. _It wasn’t supposed to be this way_. He has absolutely no idea what any of the possible alternatives are, but this is definitely not what they’d ever expected from their lives. When he’d gotten the chance to disappear and kill it once and for all, he hadn’t hesitated, even if he’d fucked it up in the end and even if he also hadn’t really had a choice at the time.

 

That was probably for the best, seeing as whenever he _does_ get to make a choice, he makes the wrong one.

**_You’re_ ** _the one who fucked it up first._

 

But Jin was a choice – another sentimental one, in fact, just like the last one that severed him from Heihachi once and for all. From the heart’s perspective, neither of those were the wrong decision. It was perfectly normal, perfectly _human_ to do what he’d done in both of those cases.

 

The problem is that he couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t stand up to Heihachi, couldn’t do as he’d been asked, couldn’t prove to Kazuya or himself or fucking _anyone_ that he could get it right when it mattered most. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t move on. And then, years later, he couldn’t look Kazuya’s son – _his fucking son, that makes him your nephew, isn’t that fucking insane?_ – in the eye and turn him away.

 

And now he can’t deny him.

 

_He’ll never understand just how badly you need to protect him._

 

But he _can_ protect him – he can, and he _will_. If he has to go through this shit again, he won’t be caught off-guard anymore. He’ll do this right, play it smart. He’s learned from his mistakes, and he’s going to make the most of that experience.

 

“I’ll be damned if I lose to you again, old man.” He mutters aloud. “I can ruin your life _and_ protect Jin at the same time, just you wait.”

_Do you really think you’ll be lucky enough to survive it twice?_

 

* * *

 

 Despite his burning curiosity, Jin is distinctly nervous when he comes to the computer room. The place has always been a little weird for him to begin with – all the screens and wires and decades’ worth of technology humming away that he could barely understand because computers are not his strong suit – but now he can’t get Lee’s parting words out of his head, can’t stop thinking about that haunting look in his eyes, on his face. Whatever he’s trying to do for Jin is no little thing, and as much as he wants to know more, he also feels guilty about it. This is clearly difficult for him.

 

Jin can sense Lee’s mental and emotional strain when he enters, but the man smiles at him anyway, motioning him closer with a friendly tilt of his head. Jin swallows, because even now, warring with the trepidation and steadily-rising exhaustion, he senses a softly-glowing light of affection. _He’s doing this for you. He wants you to feel safe here, to trust him. He doesn’t want you to be unhappy._

 

He takes the seat beside Lee, watching as the man fiddles with his touchpad.

 

“Thank you for doing this for me.” He says sincerely. “I – it’s – I know it’s hard for you.”

 

Lee freezes in his work and blinks up at him, obviously caught off-guard. Still, he recovers well, shaking his head and huffing his usual, fond laugh as his expression shifts into something less transparent.

 

“Don’t you worry about that,” he assures him. “A little stress is good for you.”

 

Jin bites back the obvious retort and just smiles instead, knowing that Lee would never let him get into that. _Stubborn man_. He’ll have to find some way to help him calm down later.

 

“Are you ready to get started?” Lee continues, hand hovering over the touch-screen. Jin nods. _This is it._

 

The first image he brings up is a familiar one – it’s the same photo of Heihachi Mishima that Jin found in that folder from Lee’s room. Lee hovers there for a little bit before changing over to another image of Heihachi, this one obviously from many years before. He’s a good deal younger, his hair dark instead of gray, although he still possesses that extremely unfortunate balding pattern. Seriously, what is _with_ that? He’ll have to ask at some point – it isn’t _entirely_ relevant, but the man _is_ his grandfather. Maybe it runs in the family.

 

“I guess I should start with Heihachi Mishima.” Lee says tentatively, catching his wandering attentions. “Who I...perhaps should have discussed with you in a little more detail at some point, all things considered.”

 

In Lee’s defense, Jin had never asked. Had never cared. It hadn’t seemed important at the time – most things hadn’t without his mother there.

 

“You’ve always been aware that he’s your grandfather, based on what your mother told you.” Lee continues, almost as if he knows what Jin is thinking. “But...I know there’s a lot she didn’t tell you. By the time you got to me, I suppose you didn’t care, and you shouldn’t have. You still shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. Your blood family is only as important as you want them to be, and Heihachi Mishima is not worth your time.”

 

Lee frowns, gazing intently at the image of Heihachi’s unpleasant face. “That being said...something is better than nothing.”

 

The screen presents another picture, this one of an imposing building that Jin swears he recognizes. After a moment, he realizes that he remembers it from posters and promotional footage of the third tournament.

 

“Is that the company he owns?” Jin asks, leaning in. “The Mishima Zaibatsu?”

 

“Mhm.” Lee gives the photo something of a contemptuous look. “The Mishima Zaibatsu has been a corporate powerhouse in Japan for several decades. It was influential when it was run by your great-grandfather, Jinpachi Mishima, but once Heihachi took over and turned its primary output over to weapons manufacturing, it became a veritable business empire. Mishimas never really do things by halves.”

 

Lee swivels his chair to face him now, taking both of Jin’s hands in his own in an exceedingly rare gesture of sobering concern. His expression is severe, his aura direct – when Jin looks him in the eye, all he can see is a startlingly clear gravity that Lee doesn’t often show. The tension forms a hard knot in his gut.

 

“The most important thing to know about Heihachi is that he’s dangerous.” Lee says, his voice low. “He’s powerful both in wealth and stature, so he’s used to getting what he wants. He won’t hesitate to go through people if necessary, and despite his sense of “honor”, he isn’t above playing dirty.”

 

Lee squeezes his hands. “If he knew your heritage, he would be coming after you directly for certain.”

 

“Why?” Jin asks, unconsciously matching his voice to Lee’s hushed tones. “I’ve never even met him.”

 

“Because of your father. Kazuya Mishima.”

 

As he speaks the man’s name, his aura deepens, twists, _trembles_ with an ache of fear and pain and grief that Jin can feel in his own chest. Lee’s emotional response to discussing Heihachi had been measured, controllable, a slight edge of ice and venom, but nothing like this. His face betrays nothing, but it doesn’t matter. Jin swallows.

 

“...did they hate each other?” He finally manages, and Lee sighs, looking down at their joined hands.

 

“I can’t speak for Heihachi – the old bastard’s motivations never did seem to stay consistent, most days – but Kazuya definitely did. It was to the point that they were aiming to kill each other, and with Heihachi’s paranoia, he might consider you some sort of inheritor of Kazuya’s legacy if he finds out that you’re of Mishima blood.”

 

Jin feels his stomach clench. That’s what Lee had been afraid of? It’s no wonder he hadn’t told him the specifics on that one.

 

It’s no wonder he’d been so scared to find him gone.

 

“How would he know?” Jin asks instead, trying not to dredge up too much of yesterday’s negative energy. Lee, to his surprise, laughs slightly, even if it’s a rueful sound.

 

“Aside from the fact that he likes to know everything?” Lee starts wryly. “Well...let me show you.”

 

With that, he pulls away, turning to retrieve a tape from the stack on the desk beside him. He fiddles with the player for a moment before inserting the device, adjusting the screen and related schematics even as the footage starts playing.

 

It appears to be some sort of security video, most likely from a camera positioned over an outdoor training field. The subject of the footage is obvious.

 

Jin watches the man intently as he blazes across the screen, a veritable inferno of precision and lethality and – yes, there it is – lightning. It radiates off of him with every move that he makes, every careful kick, every heavy-handed punch, each thrust and twist and charged sidestep. He recognizes the kata that he’s performing, but it looks so different, suddenly. Like it’s second nature, like it’s just breathing. The man is practically a force of nature, a thunderstorm barely constrained to a human body, and Jin can’t tear his gaze away.

 

Even from the camera’s distance, Jin can tell that the resemblance is there and that, based on Lee’s reaction from earlier, is most likely uncanny to the point of being dead shot evidence identifying him as a Mishima. The hair is distinctive enough, what with its swept-back, pointed shape, but even his arms and shoulders remind Jin of what he sees in the mirror every day.

 

“Is that...my father?”

 

Beside him, Lee sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. Jin doesn’t have to look back to know that his expression has most likely taken on that signature, contemplative edge that it gets when he’s trying to explain something without giving away too many secrets. Underneath, his aura is still simmering unsettlingly, trying to calm itself to little avail. He’s clearly starting to reach his limit with this, or at least with these particular people.

 

“...yes. These are...old tapes from the Zaibatsu, back when he was in charge of it.”

 

It takes a moment for that to sink in – his father, the head of the superpower that hosted the third tournament? – but he supposes that it makes sense. The King of the Iron Fist Tournaments have evidently all been hosted by the Mishima Zaibatsu, so he was bound to have orchestrated at least one of them in that time.

 

“How did you get these if they’re from the Zaibatsu?” Jin asks. Lee fidgets.

 

“...I used to work there.” He admits, only a tad slower than usual. “When Kazuya was in charge. I liked to snoop around a lot – I’m the kind of person where everything is my business if I want it to be. How else would I know so much about these sorts of things?”

 

That...sounds about right. Lee is dangerously well-informed on all matters of knowledge, so it makes sense that this area of expertise would include nontraditional things. Jin can imagine him getting into things that he really shouldn’t have been, even at work.

 

Still...

 

“Did you really work for the Zaibatsu?”

 

Left unsaid is the additional “Did you really work for my father?”, but Lee is pretty aware that it’s present, anyway. Jin can tell by the way his demeanor concentrates itself, finally compressing down into a tiny but ultimately manageable ball of distress.

 

“Mhm.” He tilts his head, considering the footage as it plays out. “I was an engineer there, but it was...well, weird. The Zaibatsu was a corrupt line of business, honestly, and nothing that big isn’t. All Kazuya wanted was to outdo Heihachi, and he wasn’t shy about it. But that’s what he’d been trained for, so he was savvy in all the right ways. Calm. Collected. An expert businessman as well as a fighter. You could kind of just tell from a glance.”

 

Jin looks back at the screen just in time to witness an effortlessly perfect Lightning Screw Uppercut, something that he has always had to work hard to get right. It was one of the techniques that Lee had only been able to demonstrate for him step-by-step – Jin had needed to put it all together on his own after that. He knows that the move is exclusive to the style that Lee has teaching him for the last four years, so that must mean...

 

“...you’ve been teaching me Mishima-style karate?”

 

He asks the question despite pretty much knowing the answer already, but there’s a part of him that still wants the confirmation. It certainly adds up, after all, the way it had all just come so naturally to him, the way that he could so effortlessly improve upon the basics that Lee had given him. He was meant to fight like this – it’s already in his blood.

 

That was also probably why Lee had never minded Jin making it his own, and had in fact encouraged him to do so. Jin had been more than happy to integrate and apply the things his mother had taught him, never once considering the deeper implications of it. _You are more than just one thing. You are more than just your grandfather’s side of the family – you are your own person, and you can make this into whatever you want it to be._

 

Lee glances away from the screen to look at him instead, slight wariness in his eyes.

 

“Yes, I have.” He admits. “In spite of everything else, I thought it would suit you. I wanted to see where you would take it.” He seems to consider something, then smiles at him, his aura brightening with a distinct sense of what Jin recognizes as pride. “You definitely exceeded all of my expectations in that regard. You’re quite brilliant.”

 

Jin ducks his head, not unaccustomed to the praise but embarrassed all the same. “I’m glad you think it was worth it.”

 

“More than that.” Lee assures him. “You still want to keep learning it, right?”

 

Jin nods. “Of course.”

 

Maybe even more now than before, which is really saying something. He has a point to prove, a legacy to invalidate. A shitty old man to infuriate, even if he’ll never know what Jin has done to this aspect of his family’s inheritance.

 

“ _Excellent_ ,” Lee says in that ridiculous way of his, obviously pleased. Jin isn’t fast enough in hiding his smile at the sound of the familiar (albeit very silly) English word, and Lee hones in on his disrespect, the grin on his own face widening to accompany an impressively arched eyebrow.

 

“Are you laughing at me, Jin Kazama?” His tone is humorously suspicious, and Jin smothers a giggle.

 

“I wasn’t before, but now I am,” he manages, and Lee chuckles. It’s a good feeling, a familiar dynamic – they hadn’t been like this at first, but the more they’d gotten accustomed to each other, the more they’d begun to realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. They could share inside jokes, laughter, things they’d found in the books they were reading with ease and relative comfort. The foundation of trust they’d built between them allowed for many surprising and wonderful things, and in this moment of experiencing it once again, Jin remembers how much he’d missed it while he was away.

 

How much he worries that the tension and the stress will wear it all away.

 

“Since you don’t seem to be taking me seriously anymore, I think I can leave you to handle this on your own.” Lee says, getting up from his chair and motioning to the neat stack of tapes on one of the nearby desks. “The footage there is labeled, and you should recognize a few of the people I’ve picked out. You can consider this part of your training, if you like – studying their fighting styles and behaviorisms is a good first step if you plan on ever going to another tournament.”

 

“Wow.” Jin blinks in surprise, then looks up at his guardian. “Thank you.”

 

Lee clicks his tongue. “That’s just the fun stuff. Consider it a start and a peace offering.”

 

Jin nods, amazed at the progress his guardian has made in the last several hours. After the initial outburst and his persistent sense of distress, Jin hadn’t expected the older man to treat the whole affair with such a strong attitude of acceptance.

 

“Did you have any other questions?” Lee inquires, and is seemingly caught off-guard when Jin shrugs. “That’s...not the answer I was expecting, if I’m being honest.”

 

“I need to think about it,” Jin confesses. “You mentioned some of the important stuff today, as well as a few things I never considered in the first place. Maybe in a few days?”

 

“Sure.” Lee gives him a little smile. “Sounds good to me. Have fun, alright?”

 

“I can do that.” Jin affirms, and Lee laughs quietly, ruffling Jin’s hair as he passes him.

 

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Jin watches him leave, feeling a sense of familiarity pass over him. His guardian is always like that, breezing in and out of doorways and laughing off concerns when he isn’t in the mood to address his own difficulties. Even with the more lighthearted exchange they’d just had, Jin can tell that Lee has just about reached his limit for the day. What the exact criteria is for that, he isn’t quite sure, but that’s not his business. It’s kind of similar (albeit not nearly as funny) to how Hwoarang only had a limited capacity for dealing with particularly annoying contestants –

 

 _Ah. Hwoarang_. Jin flinches internally at the memory of his friend, immediately feeling a strong sense of melancholy come over him. He misses him already. Somehow – not today, but hopefully sooner rather than later – he’ll have to convince Lee to get ahold of his contact information. He doesn’t know how he’s going to convince his guardian to help him or if getting him to do so is even going to be as difficult as he’s afraid it might be, but regardless, he’s doing it. For all the transience of the third tournament, Jin has no intentions of letting _this_ particular dream slip away. If Lee is resistant, maybe they can work out a deal. Lee likes making deals.

 

...maybe he’s had enough for now, too. The day is relatively young – he can get some training in, spend some time in the garden, catch up on his studies – he doesn’t have to start on this right away. Spacing it out will give them both some time to carefully consider how they want to say what they need to.

 

_Alright. Let’s make up for lost time._

 


	11. Looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That which I would discover
> 
> The law of friendship bids me to conceal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the _infinite_ amount of dialogue in this chapter and the inevitable typos I will find over the next few days. Even more apologies for the fact that this is (as far as I'm concerned) WAY overdue.
> 
> Thank you, everyone! Good luck with your own projects!

 

For the next few days, Jin busies himself with studying. He has a lot on his mind, but he knows no better way to distract himself than by focusing relentlessly on his routine. Trying to reinstate a sense of normalcy as quickly as possible may not necessarily be addressing all the issues that are still present, but it certainly helps him get into the right mind space for dealing with all of it. With any luck, this applies to Lee as well.

 

The array of data Lee has presented him with alone is more than enough to exemplify just how little Jin actually knows about him. Whatever world is out there – whatever world the tournaments exist in, specifically – is one that Lee is very familiar with, perhaps too much so. Jin had never really considered why he’s been living in relative isolation on his own private island before, just chalking it up to his usual, eccentric behavior, but...perhaps he’s been hiding here, just as he is hiding Jin, now.

 

The implications raise questions that Jin is actually a little uncomfortable with, so he writes them down and puts them away. Doubts are for later. There are other things he wants to understand first.

 

* * *

 

Jin paces out the tapes between his training and other activities. He starts with Paul Phoenix, mostly because he’s familiar, but also because Lee’s claims of his ability to defeat Toshin are still clear in his mind. He believes it, to an extent, but a part of him feels like he has to make sure, so he spends most of the first day analyzing his footage.

 

This is how he discovers Marshall Law.

 

The nature of the tapes is that they almost simulate a rabbit hole, where you start with one and find something interesting and then end up spending hours looking for clips of one particular person. The man is featured in some of Paul’s footage, and for a moment, Jin finds himself wondering if it’s Forrest, somehow. It isn’t, but the resemblance is beyond uncanny, even with the sub-par images. Between Phoenix’s tapes and the ones Lee supplied him of Law, Jin can see that they are pretty much always together, much like how Forrest was always with Phoenix, too. When he realizes that he’s been hypothesizing too long about whether or not Marshall is Forrest’s father and what might’ve happened to him, he remembers that he can probably just ask Lee. He writes it down and moves on.

 

Michelle Chang is a marvel of modern combat, wise beyond her years and extremely formidable in the ring. She’s a lot like her daughter, because _of course_ he can see the behavioral resemblance between her and Julia. Like Phoenix and Law, she has footage from both tournaments, and like Law, her lack of presence at the third tournament leaves Jin wondering what could’ve happened to her. Once more, he resolves to ask. For the sake of his new friends, he hopes they’re both alright.

 

Three days in, Jin is currently about halfway through the footage of a Taekwondo fighter named Baek Doo San, someone whom he doesn’t quite recognize but is getting familiar vibes from, anyway. His fighting style is obviously a variant of Hwoarang’s, which is...distracting him, honestly. He misses his friend terribly, and for all of his focus during the day, Jin is finding it almost impossible to put Hwoarang out of his mind otherwise. So much of his schedule had been built around training and spending time with the other man, so now that he’s not here...

 

Perhaps enough time has passed since he got back to safely ask Lee to help him. The tournament should’ve ended by now, so maybe...?

 

Only one way to find out. He adds it to the list and resolves to start tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

His guardian is sitting cross-legged on the couch, perusing something on his tablet, looking for all the world like a completely normal person in his white turtleneck sweater, light jeans, and socks. He’s soft at the edges today, a mug of tea on the table beside him instead of coffee, his silver hair a little messier than usual. Jin is reassured by the comfortable alertness in his posture, in the way his eyes idly scan the screen. It’s a good sign. It’s a good time.

 

Jin clears his throat.

 

“Um.”

 

_Why are you like this._

 

Lee glances up from his tablet, smiling warmly when he notices Jin approaching. There’s no dimness to his demeanor today, no nervous tension clouding his emotions when he acknowledges Jin. If anything, his aura lightens at the sight of him, softening into something fond and welcoming.

 

“Good morning.” Lee greets him, inclining his head. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“I did,” Jin replies, trying not to let his nervousness show too clearly, although his guardian is obviously gracious enough to politely ignore it. “I...I have the list for you.”

 

“Ah.” Lee doesn’t seem surprised, and motions for Jin to pass the paper over, which he does. “I’ll get to that as soon as I can, okay? You might have to wait a little while – a few matters may require some research on my part.”

 

“Okay.” _Yikes, but this is awkward. Just say it already!_

 

“Was there something else you needed?” Lee inquires, mixed degrees genuinely curious and pointedly indicative. Jin mentally smacks himself. The man really does know him too well.

 

“...I guess I wanted to know if you ever found out who won the tournament.” Jin says tentatively, still unsure if he should be mentioning the event at all or if he even wants to hear the answer. His fears seem to be unfounded, however, as Lee just sighs lightly and nods.

 

“Paul Phoenix.” He glances at his tablet before adding, “He did defeat Toshin, by the way. As I suspected he could.”

 

“Oh.”

 

There’s something very...anti-climactic about the confirmation. After spending all that time working up to it only to not be there, to not have done it himself – well, let’s just say that he expected to feel more than just a passing sense of understanding. Maybe he’s still too numb for it to process correctly. Maybe it’ll hit him later tonight, probably at 3AM while he’s trying to sleep. You know. The usual. Whatever the reason, he supposes he may as well accept it while he still can.

 

“There were some logistical...adjustments, of course.” Lee continues, seemingly unaware of Jin’s internal crisis. Jin tilts his head curiously.

 

“...adjustments?”

 

“Well, yes. Heihachi Mishima isn’t just going to let some brute American claim all the glory for the tournament.” Lee says wryly. “He probably paid him off in prize money and sent him on his way after he got Toshin out of the picture. Nice and tidy.”

 

Jin remains silent, digesting this. That...for better or for worse, does seem about right.

 

“Just so you know, though,” Lee adds, his voice suddenly a little different, “Phoenix had stakes just like you did. Perhaps not as dramatic, but...his fight with Toshin was personal, too. He did it for all of you – anyone who’d lost someone to that monster. I can guarantee that much. That’s...that’s just how he does things.”

 

“You think so?” Jin asks, not out of doubt, but out of a need for confirmation. Lee, to his surprise, laughs quietly.

 

“That man may seem simple, but what he’s made of and what he has is very powerful, especially when it's in his hands. He’s a force to be reckoned with in almost every domain. He’s the kind of man you can trust to finish something.”

 

He is sincere in his words, speaking with a distinct air of admiration that Jin is a little disarmed by. Lee doesn’t often talk quite like that, preferring to be more discreet in his praise of others, or at least more technical. Jin has realized that he is an exception to this rule, as Lee has always been many kinds of complimentary and encouraging with him despite his disciplined approach to training. To hear that same sort of genuine awe in his voice when speaking of Paul Phoenix – well, he supposes it’s something. If Lee acknowledges that much strength in him, then maybe it isn’t bad after all. He’ll still need time to think on it, though, so it probably isn’t worth mentioning right now.

 

“Thank you for telling me.” Jin says instead, and Lee shrugs nonchalantly.

 

“I figured you would ask eventually. It lines up with all your other questions, after all. Although,” Lee continues, tone lightening slightly. “There’s something _else_ you want to ask about, isn’t there?” A pause. “Something a little more personal?”

 

Jin flushes. _Gods_ , but how does he do this? Jin knows he isn’t the most discreet with his feelings at times, but _come on_. This is just ridiculous. It’s like the man is reading his mind or something.

 

“May I ask you for a favor?” Jin asks, suddenly feeling a little timid again, and Lee tilts his head to the side.

 

“Of course.”

 

“I...I met someone at the tournament.” Jin admits. Lee raises his eyebrows.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. We hung out together for most of it...training and watching the other matches together. Cheering for each other, I guess.” Jin finishes lamely, not really knowing how to say enough without saying too much.

 

“I see.” Lee seems to find this explanation sufficient though, because he continues, “So you want me to acquire their contact information for you?”

 

 _...I guess I really am that transparent._ “...that would be nice, yes.”

 

“Do you have their name, their location and such?”

 

“Yes, but. He might be sort of hard to find.” Jin says hesitantly, handing Lee another piece of paper, this one with Hwoarang’s name and what he remembers from his registration sheet on it.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that part. I can track anyone down.” Lee chuckles, scanning the slip briefly before winking at him. “You’ll be talking to your fighter friend within the next twenty-four hours, I guarantee it.”

 

 _...was it really going to be that easy this entire time?_ Jin frowns, a little ashamed at himself. Lee has always been more than willing to accommodate for favors in the past – _hell_ , even if he _had_ eventually gotten difficult about it, he’d still agreed to train Jin to fight Toshin at the outset with only basic negotiations. Why should something this harmless be any different?

 

_“Are you really that fucking dense that you can’t tell when someone is practically begging you not to do something?”_

 

The words are clear in his memory, furious and biting, acerbic and bitter. Jin can still feel the betrayal in that sentence, the stinging sense of having been cast away in favor of more glorious fortunes. The pain of Jin’s absence. The fear that he would never return, for whatever reason. He doubts that Lee has fully recovered from his breakdown that day, so yes, he supposes he has a right to be at least a little surprised. After such an intense, emotional episode, the ease of this entire exchange still feels a bit...misplaced.

 

“...you’re not upset?” He ventures. When Lee gives him nothing more than a quizzical look in response, Jin feels the need to elaborate. “You know, that I want to talk to someone from the tournament. That I wasn’t supposed to go to. And that we had a big fight about. That...doesn’t bother you?”

 

“Not at all. I’m thrilled that you’ve made a friend, Jin, and even if the circumstances were...shall we say, less than ideal, it can’t be helped now that it’s done. It would be unfair of me to prevent you from reaching out.” Lee chuckles to himself before adding, “Besides...he makes you happy. I can already tell. That’s all that really matters to me.”

 

Taken aback by the admission, Jin blinks, some weird little clench in his chest giving him pause. His initial plan upon approach had been to make his requests and then return to training, but...

 

_“...will you stay?”_

 

They’ve been through a lot these last few days. Hell, they’ve been through a lot in the last few weeks, between the rising tensions and Toshin and the third tournament. Getting the chance to reestablish a normal routine and spend time collecting his thoughts has been very good for him, but there’s still a lot he’s dealing with. He can easily imagine that Lee is going through something similar, if not infinitely more stressful because he perceives himself as being responsible for the safety that Jin may or may not have just inadvertently jeopardized.

 

“Will you be here for much longer?” Jin asks. Lee, who had already returned to his tablet, glances up at him.

 

“Hm? Oh, yes. That was the plan, anyway.” A pause. “Why, do you need me for something else?”

 

“No, I just...I was just wondering if you wanted some company.”

 

Lee lifts his eyebrows, looking faintly surprised for a moment, before his expression melts into a soft, affectionate smile. He seems caught off-guard by his words, but not in a bad way.

 

“I would like that very much, actually.” He says quietly. Jin can tell how much he means it. “Do you want to get a book or something...?”

 

Jin shakes his head. He’s always been content to rest his head in his guardian’s lap and just think – or _not_ think, really – while Lee strokes his hair and does his work. Today is no exception, and his guardian seems to be aware of that, because his smile widens.

 

“Well, by all means then.” He invites, patting the couch cushion beside him. “You can stay as long as you like.”

 

“You should be careful in offering something so generous,” Jin warns him as he settles into place, leveling Lee with a mock-serious look. “You know I’ll take you up on it.”

 

The sound of his guardian’s laughter is the best thing he’s heard all day.

 

* * *

 

Evening training is a productive affair, and Jin feels loose and energetic after his cool-down exercises and shower. He has just started perusing his bookshelf for something to read when Lee knocks at his door.

 

“Yes?” Jin inquires when he answers, a little surprised by the knowing grin on his guardian’s face. “Um...is everything okay?” 

 

“Here you are,” Lee says cheerfully by way of answering, handing him a slip of paper. Jin blinks. “Name, address, phone number – anything you might need to get in touch with your friend. Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

 

Jin takes the information and scans it over, marveling at the sudden surge of delight instilled within him by such a simple gesture. _This is it. You can talk to Hwoarang again._ Jin looks back to his guardian, beaming at him.

 

“Thank you so much!”

 

“It was no trouble at all.” Lee assures him, winking playfully. “Have fun.”

 

Jin feels like he should hug him, so he does, throwing his arms around Lee and squeezing him tightly. His guardian lets out a surprised but happy laugh, returning the embrace for a moment before patting Jin lightly on the back.

 

“Don’t forget your own strength, little one,” he teases. Jin releases him, flushing slightly.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Lee shakes his head, still chuckling. “You’re fine. Like I said, have fun. And don’t worry about me – I’m thrilled to see you excited about something that isn’t training or a plant.”

 

Jin, despite himself, flushes harder. His guardian, embarrassingly enough, is absolutely correct. Jin’s range of interests are and always have been extremely limited, much to Lee’s infinite amusement. Even now, he seems more than happy to tease Jin about his few hobbies, not that there’s any ill-intent behind it whatsoever. He’s always respected Jin’s choices for how he spent his time, even if he did worry about them a lot.

 

“...I’m glad to hear that.” Jin manages. Lee ruffles his hair as he starts to head off.

 

“Goodnight, Jin. Don’t stay up too late.”

 

“Don’t you stay up too late, either!” Jin calls after him, smiling to himself at the sound of Lee’s answering laughter down the hallway. That man...really. Even with all the characters he’d seen at the third tournament, his guardian still manages to be in a league of his own.

 

But now he has a chance to reconnect with one of the best parts of the tournament – a chance to talk to Hwoarang again, to hear his voice, to laugh at his jokes and his attitude and his creative way of swearing. That surge of excitement rises up inside of him again, and he can’t get back to his phone fast enough, digging it out from under his blankets and dialing the number on the slip of paper.

 

Jin sends a quick prayer into the ether as he starts up the call, fidgeting anxiously on his bed as he waits for some kind of answer. He knows he shouldn’t be _this_ worked up about something so silly, but. Well. Maybe it isn’t actually as silly as he’s trying to pretend it is.

 

The contact rings out and Jin bites back a sigh of disappointment, ending the call and frowning at his phone’s screen. Maybe he doesn’t have his phone on him at the moment? Maybe it’s the wrong number? That last one is quickly ruled out as impossible – Lee would never have messed up something as simple as acquiring someone’s contact information.

 

 _...ah_. He should’ve left a message. _So much for that._ Jin dials the number again, mentally cursing his own, nervous stupidity. Hopefully he’ll do it right this time, find a proper way to let his friend know that he’s gotten ahold of him at long last.

 

On the fourth ring, someone answers the phone, and Jin holds his breath.

 

_“Listen, you’ve got the wrong number, dude – ”_

 

“Hwoarang.” Jin says, and his friend instantly cuts off.

 

 _“...how do you know my name?”_ He asks suspiciously, and Jin laughs.

 

“It’s me. Jin.”

 

There’s a brief moment of silence, just enough time for Jin to wonder if Hwoarang has already forgotten about him, and then:

 

 _“...holy shit,_ Kazama? _Really? You’re okay!”_

 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Jin answers, already smiling. “And it’s me, I promise. Sorry for worrying you.”

 

_“Worrying me? Dude, you scared the shit out of me! You just disappeared, even your stuff was gone! There wasn’t even an official resignation or anything! What happened?”_

 

“Sorry,” Jin replies, feeling a little guilty despite having no real say in the matter. “My guardian came and uh...took me home.”

 

_“Seriously?”_

 

“Yeah,” Jin says, wincing as he remembers how poorly his homecoming went. “He uh...wasn’t too happy with me sneaking off to go fight in the tournament like that.”

 

_“Sheesh. He the overbearing type, or...?”_

 

“No, no, he just...well, you saw how some things happened. He knows how the tournaments work and got worried about me.” Jin explains.

 

 _“Damn.”_ There’s a rustling noise from the other end. _“But everything’s good, right? You’re safe and stuff?”_

 

“Very safe.” Jin reassures him. “And before you ask, no, I’m not being held prisoner.”

 

_“Can never be too careful, Kazama.”_

 

“I’ve noticed.” Knowing Heihachi Mishima’s character, it’s reasonable to assume that anything could’ve happened to him. Hwoarang knows nothing of Lee, but he also has absolutely no reason to trust him, either. All he knows is Jin, and all he has are Jin’s assurances that everything is alright.

 

And really, that’s all Jin has of Hwoarang’s, too. They’re so far apart that all they can really do is just try and convince the other that everything is fine, even when it really isn’t.

 

“What about you?” Jin asks, keeping his voice quiet. “Are you okay?”

 

 _“Me?”_ Hwoarang sounds surprised by his question, but Jin knows there’s an element of deflection to his response. _“I’m good. Better now that I know you’re alive and shit.”_

 

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Jin repeats, but Hwoarang makes his signature “I’m brushing off your unnecessary apology/worries” sound almost immediately.

 

_“Not your fault. I, uh. I can relate to the whole ‘doing this without your personal authority figure’s permission results in terrible consequences’ thing.”_

 

“...how was the tournament?” Jin asks after a moment. Hwoarang sighs.

 

_“Honestly? Lost a lot of its appeal after you disappeared. I did my best, but. You know. Did you hear who won?”_

 

“Yeah, my guardian told me.”

 

 _“Yeah. Didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would after it was all over. Guess I’d already started to move on a little after I met you.”_ He laughs slightly, and Jin can imagine him shaking his head. _“Turns out all I really wanted was to have that match with you at the tournament.”_

 

“Heh.” Jin feels a smile creeping onto his face. “You sure about that?”

 

 _“Absolutely.”_ Hwoarang answers confidently, and Jin laughs. _“You don’t think I can take you, Kazama?”_

“I know you can. Or have you forgotten what it was like to fight me already?”

 

_“Pfft. Couldn’t forget that if I tried. Next time I see you, it is so on.”_

 

“I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

 

 _“You should come up here sometime,”_ Hwoarang offers casually, and Jin raises an eyebrow. _“Might be a nice change of pace.”_

 

“Up here...you mean to South Korea?”

 

 _“Sure.”_ There’s a smile in Hwoarang’s voice. _“Why not?”_

 

“That sounds...wonderful, actually.” And it does. Jin would love to get away, would give anything to be somewhere else than here for even a day or two. Korea...it certainly wouldn’t be the quiet forests of Yakushima, or even the subtle isolation of his current residence in the Bahamas, but it would be a fantastic change of scenery. Taking his mind off of everything else for a bit might help his mood, too.

 

(And being with Hwoarang would definitely make everything better.)

 

 _“Come to think of it, though...where are you, anyway?”_ Hwoarang asks, and Jin hesitates. Should he tell him the truth? Realistically, it would probably be a harmless admission, but spending the last four years with Lee and his borderline paranoia has taught him a few things about being cautious. Still, it’s just Hwoarang, and it’s not as though he knows that Jin is with someone who is probably in hiding or anything...

 

“Um.” Jin pauses. “The Bahamas?”

 

 _“Is that a question?”_ Hwoarang teases. _“Also, wow. That’s, uh...that’s a lot. Honestly, I didn’t think that’s where you’d be.”_

 

“Yeah, it’s...it’s out there.”

 

A moment of silence ensues as Jin tries to collect his thoughts and Hwoarang most likely attempts to come to terms with the distance between them. Really, Jin is starting to feel that pressure too, all the hundreds of thousands of kilometers that separate them when all he wants is to be face-to-face again.

 

_“So. What are you doing there, anyway? It’s definitely not Japan.”_

 

“No, it certainly isn’t,” Jin agrees, remembering Yakushima and its ancient forests. “It...it’s alright, though. It’s a safe place, at least. I don’t mind it.”

 

_“How long have you been there?”_

 

“About four years, give or take,” he says, before continuing, unconsciously prompted by Hwoarang’s unvoiced curiosities, “I was born in Yakushima, though. It’s an island by Japan. I spent the first fifteen or so years of my life there.”

_“Yakushima, huh?”_ Hwoarang seems to be rolling that information around in his head. _“That’s one of those tiny islands, isn’t it.”_

 

“You could say that.” Jin smiles to himself as he remembers his old home, his first home. “Lots of forests, lots of trees...really pretty waterfalls if you cared to find them.”

 

_“Ha! Sounds like you, nature boy. You did spend a lot of time outside during the tournament.”_

 

Jin laughs quietly, the sound trailing off as the memories come back to him a little more clearly. The huge trees, the sparkling waters...the sun shining in his mother’s hair as she turned and smiled at him.

 

_“...do you miss it?”_

 

Hwoarang’s voice pulls his mind out of its attempted reverie.

 

“Hm?”

 

 _“Yakushima. Do you miss it?”_ He repeats patiently, and Jin sighs. It might be easier to say no, but this isn’t the kind of thing to lie about.

 

“...yeah.”

 

 _“You’ll get to go there again sometime.”_ Hwoarang says immediately, the confidence in his voice rousing Jin’s spirits. _“Maybe we should try and go together? I’d like to see the place.”_

 

“It would be nice to show you around.” Jin says, grateful for the change of mood. Leave it to Hwoarang to save Jin from getting too moody on him. “And...thanks.”

 

 _“Not a problem, Kazama.”_ The familiar, playful tone that Jin has been dreaming about for the last few days is more than enough to make him smile. _“Didn’t want you to get sad the first time I hear from you since the tournament.”_

 

“Definitely hadn’t intended on it,” Jin says wryly, and Hwoarang chuckles.

 

 _“I know how you get. Doesn’t bother me.”_ A pause. _“Unfortunately, I_ do _have to get going. Day’s just started and I’ve got a lot of shit to do.”_

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Jin says quickly, not wanting to inconvenience him. Still... “Can I...can I call you again sometime? Maybe tomorrow?”

 

 _“You never have to ask.”_ Hwoarang replies instantly, voice warm. _“If you don’t, I’ll call you first. I’m very persistent.”_

 

“Heh. Sounds good.”

 

_“Cool. Some other time, then, Kazama?”_

 

“Some other time.”

 

Jin ends the call, the simmering joy inside of him bubbling back to the surface the moment he sets his phone down. He smiles. His heart feels full.

 

_Some other time._ He's never looked forward to something so much. 

 

* * *

 

The days begin to pass much quicker once they start contacting each other regularly. Jin is almost surprised by how much they manage to talk about, considering how much of their relationship at the tournament was built off of sparring and training, but he isn’t complaining in the slightest. If they aren’t talking on the phone, then they’re texting, sending each other pictures of their days and selfies and any little thing they think of.

 

Hwoarang is impressed by Jin’s photographs of the gardens (and the sheer size of them, too), always asking about all of the flowers and fountains and every other decoration Lee has set up there. Jin, in turn, always has hundreds of questions about Seoul, astounded by the seemingly infinite stimulation that the city provides. They do video chats while they eat, breakfast and dinner simultaneously, Hwoarang laughing at Jin’s bland, proper foods and Jin equal measures appalled and concerned by Hwoarang’s cheap (yet necessitated) diet. They talk about their training regiments, what went well and what didn’t, what new techniques they’re working on and can’t wait to show the other.

 

Sometimes, Hwoarang will send him videos of something new that he’s practicing, encouraging Jin to respond in kind. Hwoarang is always highly complimentary about Jin’s form, the eloquence of such responses ranging from actual critiques to teasing (but maybe not just teasing?) comments about how good he looks. Jin, of course, never knows how to handle such things, but he makes a decent effort to respond in kind, anyway. He’s never been the type to back down from a challenge once it has been leveraged.

 

That’s probably what starts it, though. That, and the selfies.

 

Once, Jin finds himself staring at a picture Hwoarang had sent of himself the day before. He’s grinning broadly in the photo, clearly just about to wrap up a training session – his skin is flushed and his hair is damp, stray bangs sticking to his forehead despite his best efforts to keep them back. He looks good, both because he’s in his element and also because he’s just attractive like that, but it’s...beyond even that, somehow. It’s so familiar that Jin swears he could just reach out and touch him, realizes that he wants to, for whatever reason. Wants to be in his personal space and smooth his hair back and feel their fingers brush together when he hands him a towel or a water bottle.

 

The memory of being close to him triggers little sparks in his nerves now, the mere _thought_ of touching his hand enough to make him smile. The sound of his voice instills a myriad of emotional and physical responses, matching joy when he laughs and deeply-felt shivers when his voice drops low to tell him something secret. Jin is becoming even more in-tune with him than before, despite the distance between them. As they get to know each other better, all he wants is more.

 

More, perhaps, than he ever thought he would want from anyone.

 

_(“Jin,” Hwoarang says, laughter in that smooth voice of his. He likes it when he calls him by his given name, although he doesn’t mind being Kazama, either. He just likes the way it feels when Hwoarang talks to him, smiles at him, laughs because of something he said. Maybe it’s a little embarrassing that it takes him so long to figure out what it is.)_

 

It’s a secret that he carries with him, something precious and protected, and the feeling blossoms with each passing conversation and point of contact. He’s careful to avoid alerting Lee of any sort of preference, although he really doesn’t have much to worry about. As far as his guardian is concerned, Hwoarang is the first friend he’s ever really had. He has some leeway in making such an effort to talk with him, but he remains vigilant nonetheless. Lee is perceptive, after all, and there is little he doesn’t see. As much as he trusts the man, this is something that Jin would rather keep to himself.

 

Still, his enthusiasm is easy to take note of, and Lee doesn’t seem to mind all the extra time that Jin spends on the phone. If anything, it seems to make him happier, too.

 

* * *

 

_“Oh my God, you’re the **worst**.”_

 

Jin can’t stop laughing at Hwoarang’s petulant tone, at the humor hidden there despite his complaints.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jin manages, just shy of wheezing. “It’s just. It’s funny!”

 

 _“Ha-ha,”_ Hwoarang says sarcastically, but Jin can hear the smile in his voice. _“Didn’t take you as the type to find amusement in my shit luck.”_

 

“You did it to yourself,” Jin points out, grinning at Hwoarang’s short huff of displeasure. “And no, I’m not usually. It’s just that you really deserved it this time.”

 

 _“Unbelievable,”_ Hwoarang scoffs, not sounding disbelieving at all. _“I am so kicking your ass the next time I see you.”_

 

“Haven’t we already established that it’s going to be other way around?”

 

_“ **Jin Kazama**.”_

 

“Yes?”

 

 _“Oh, that innocent act of yours is real devastating, you know that?”_ Hwoarang says, but there’s no venom in his voice, only fondness.

 

“My guardian says I’m charming,” Jin retorts with mock loftiness, and Hwoarang bursts into laughter on the other end.

 

Jin feels his heart swell at the sound of it, and he leans back against his pillows, gazing up at the ceiling of his bedroom as Hwoarang starts telling him about the rest of his day. The sun hasn’t quite reached through his window yet, creeping shyly under his curtains – his own thoughts are quiet, soft, easy. Pleasant. Filled to the brim with simple things and little joys and a distinct sense of belonging. Hwoarang speaks and Jin listens, listens to all of it: the sound of his voice, the tune of his laughter, the steadily-growing song in his heart.

 

Jin closes his eyes, laughing at something Hwoarang said, and is happy.

 


	12. Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give me a robe, put on my crown;
> 
> I have Immortal longings in me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the chapter count is...a little higher than it used to be. Well. That's probably because I'm overly ambitious and don't know when to quit. The Word Doc for this story has gotten so big that I had to split it into a bunch of smaller ones because my computer could barely handle opening it. Oof.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys are doing well! Thank you for the support and encouragement - I ABSOLUTELY intend on finishing this bad boy, come hell or high water. Have a good day and stay safe!

_“Can’t believe I haven’t asked this one yet.”_

 

“Oh?”

 

The morning sun is streaming through Jin’s open window, but he remains in bed, stretched out across his mattress with his phone pressed against his ear. Hwoarang’s voice is tired but happy on the other end of the line – Jin knows that his own voice is probably still a bit rough from having woken up not too long ago, but Hwoarang doesn’t seem to mind.

 

_“What’s your favorite color?”_

 

“Mm.” Jin rolls over onto his back, thinking. “I like a lot of colors, but as for my favorite...I think I would have to say red, probably. What about you?”

 

_“Dark green. Red’s not bad either, though. Looks good on you.”_

Jin flushes at the compliment, making an unintelligible sound or surprise and embarrassment. It’s incredible how four harmless words can make him feel so much at once.

 

_“Jeez, Kazama, I can feel you blushing through the phone.”_

 

Hwoarang sounds like he’s smiling, seemingly aware of the effect he has on Jin and delighting in it, which is. Fine, really. Jin doesn’t mind so much, even though he wishes he could get a slightly better handle on his own reactions.

 

“Just. Shut up.” Jin manages, and now Hwoarang laughs, bright and warm. “Ask me another question.”

 

_“Okay, okay. Let me think...”_

 

* * *

 

Jin tends idly to the plants in the windowsill, enjoying the touch of color that the little leaves add to the sleek and primarily monochrome kitchen. They hadn’t always been here, but once Lee had noticed Jin’s liking of the gardens outside, he’d almost immediately set about acquiring window boxes for the rooms that Jin frequented. It had been one of Lee’s earlier efforts at making this place feel a little more like home to Jin rather than just a means to an end. The little herbs on the sill don’t seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but they’ve always meant a lot to both of them: to Jin for the gesture, and to Lee for Jin’s acceptance.

 

Behind him, the man in question hums while he steeps their morning tea, the same tune he always sings to himself whenever he’s working. Jin is very familiar with it by now, even if he still doesn’t know whether or not it’s a real song. He’s never asked. In a way, he has almost never wanted to, preferring to leave the notes of Lee’s little tunes to their own mysteries. In the past, he’d tended to give Lee’s secrets a similar treatment, but. Well. That has obviously changed.

 

“Hwoarang said his master fought in the second tournament.” Jin starts, assuming that this, at least, is a non-confrontational enough conversation topic. Lee doesn’t turn around, but Jin can tell he’s listening. “I was wondering if you knew him.”

 

“Personally? No, not really.” Lee admits. “He kept primarily to himself for most of the tournament. He was a quiet man who preferred solitude, although he was one hell of a competitor.” He pauses, seemingly thinking about something. “You have some of his tapes. Baek Doo San?”

 

“I thought so.”

 

“Mhm. I knew him better from the background checks that I had to do.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Lee chuckles quietly, bringing Jin’s tea to the table and motioning for him to come sit. He has a look on his face that Jin recognizes, but has never really been able to place – one of rueful amusement, an expression that is somehow fond, annoyed, and regretful all at once.

 

“I’ve already explained to you a little how the tournaments end up being a lot more than just a fighting competition, right?” He waits until Jin nods in confirmation before continuing. “Well. The entire Mishima Zaibatsu was on hyper-alert for the second tournament because we knew that we were going to have a lot of competitors there who were actually using their attendance as a means of arresting Kazuya.”

 

Jin blinks. That. That’s not really what he expected.

 

“...people wanted to...arrest him?”

 

Lee snorts. “ _Oh_ , yes. The list was infinite. When you’re the CEO of a company like the Zaibatsu, you end up getting into a _lot_ of shit, and Kazuya was _far_ from an upstanding citizen. You met Lei Wulong at the tournament, right?”

 

“Yes?” At Jin’s hesitant confirmation, Lee shakes his head and laughs.

 

“That was his prerogative during the second tournament, and _boy_ was he gung-ho about it. I’m sure he thought he was seeing a ghost when he first met you.”

 

The realization dawns on Jin then, the explanation for some of the...stranger behaviors he’d encountered. Paul’s reaction to seeing him. Lei’s weird looks. The way that some of the other contestants had conducted themselves when he was nearby, wary and almost...curious. He’d already learned that he looked an awful lot like his father, but he’d never considered just how much such a thing could’ve impacted his interactions with everyone who had been at the first two tournaments.

 

“...oh.”

 

Lee side-eyes him, seeming to know where Jin’s thoughts are going.

 

“You really did get lucky that no one tried to take you out while you were there.” He says flatly. “Lei was sent to arrest Kazuya, Nina Williams was hired to kill him, Anna Williams worked for him, and Paul Phoenix wouldn’t rest until he’d bested Kazuya in a fight. The fact that you resemble him so strongly is dangerous. Never forget that.”

 

“I won’t.” Jin promises. “I’ll...I’ll be more careful. In any situation.”

 

Lee nods, apparently satisfied. “Now. What else did you want to know about your new friend’s teacher?”

 

* * *

 

These days, Jin wakes up every morning to a slew of messages in his inbox, varying from Hwoarang’s random thoughts to training videos that obviously had a lot of planning put into them. He gets to look through it all first thing, then checks to see if Hwoarang can talk for a second before he goes to bed. (Spoiler alert: he always can.)

 

The rest of his day proceeds as it always has, studying and training interspersed with whatever other activities he happens to find himself wanting to make time for. He’s sure he’s taken more pictures of the birds and flowers in the garden than he has in a while, but the change of pace is nice. With Toshin gone (and he’s slowly getting used to that, to everything that it means), there’s a significant amount of pressure that has been lifted cleanly from his shoulders. The need to train constantly for some impending battle just isn’t _there_ anymore, and even though fighting has more or less become his life, he’s realizing now just how much he’s missed doing...literally anything else.

 

So maybe that’s why spending time talking with Hwoarang is so exciting. It’s comforting familiarity and delightful novelty all at once, breathing life back into what he’s always loved while simultaneously reminding him of the other things he enjoys doing. Add that to the persistent... _fluttering_ he always feels in his chest and stomach whenever Hwoarang talks to him, and the whole situation is pretty much what he most looks forward to when he wakes up in the morning.

 

Based on his relentless enthusiasm, Hwoarang seems to feel the same. Their correspondence steadily falls into a routine over the course of the first few weeks: short phone calls  or video chats when they can manage them (usually at opposite ends of the day due to the outrageous time difference), training videos once they’ve finished their daily practice schedules, and randomized pictures sent pretty much whenever they feel inspired.

 

The calls are Jin’s favorite, mostly because he gets to hear Hwoarang’s voice. They never seem to run out of things to talk about, either, which is surprising. Jin didn’t know he could talk about _anything_ this much, let alone what his favorite brew of tea is or how hot he likes his showers. Sure, Hwoarang does most of the talking nine times out of ten, but it’s still more active conversation than Jin has ever held with anyone else.

 

(He comes to the realization at one point that pretty much the only people he’s ever spoken to – or wanted to speak to – regularly other than Hwoarang are Lee and his mother, which almost feels like a weirdly existential thing to think about. He mentions as much to Lee, who doesn’t have much to say about the matter other than laughing so hard that tears come to his eyes.)

 

The training videos are great because it allows them to stay up-to-date with the other’s regiments and evolution of technique. The constant interest and affirmation for what the other is doing provides a nice thread of mutual improvement and inspiration, and Hwoarang’s quick commentary on his own half-finished projects is always a bonus. Jin even shows a video to Lee during one of their sessions, although his guardian just raises his eyebrows for most of it and laughs quietly when it’s over.

 

(“He certainly enjoys showing off for you, doesn’t he?” Lee asks lightly, something gleaming in his eyes, and Jin almost answers him affirmatively before he catches the pointed implication of what his guardian said. _Showing off **for you**._ Jin barely manages to backpedal his way out of that one, much to Lee’s infinite amusement. Privately, he decides to keep Hwoarang’s videos to himself from now on.)

 

That being said, Lee isn’t...wrong. Jin is beginning to notice a distinct... _energy_ being sent his way by Hwoarang. Maybe it’s all the compliments, maybe it’s the casual mentions of how good Jin looks in certain colors or while engaging in particular maneuvers...maybe it’s all the attention and the fondness and the seeming delight that Hwoarang projects when Jin compliments him in turn? It seems too easy, too good to be true, but maybe...

 

Or maybe that’s just how he is. Jin knows that Hwoarang is a show-off who has no trouble with being the center of attention – he sees Jin as an equal and a worthy competitor, so it would make sense for him to appreciate his praise in a way that may not be entirely conventional for two teenagers exchanging combat tips. Even for friends...Jin knows he has little experience with this sort of thing, but surely he’s reading into it too much.

 

Either way, he doesn’t really mind. He’ll keep his feelings close, something to cherish but also be respectful with, and do his best to see reality for what it is. They have plenty of time to figure it out, after all.

 

* * *

 

_“Dude, you are seriously one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen.”_

 

Jin glows at the praise, somewhere between embarrassed and delighted as he always is. The sky is dark, the shades are drawn – his history textbook lies forgotten at his side, his attentions far more focused on the conversation at hand.

 

“I’ve had a very good teacher,” Jin answers honestly, thinking of Lee’s absurd degree of prowess in nearly every field he decided to tackle. “He’s taught me almost everything I know, and what he can’t show me himself, he teaches me with all the fighting tapes he has.”

 

Hwoarang lets out a low whistle, slightly farther away from the phone. Jin knows he’s making breakfast; he can hear the sounds of activity through the speaker, and there’s something about it that makes him happier than something so simple should. Here Hwoarang is, obviously busy in his own life, yet still making time to talk to him as much as he can. Hwoarang _wants_ to talk to him, he _wants_ to hear what he has to say, and that matters more than he can even express.

 

 _“Must be one hell of a fighter himself, then.”_ Hwoarang is saying, and Jin nods enthusiastically before remembering that Hwoarang can’t see him.

 

“He is. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

 

 _“How come he didn’t go to the tournament?”_ Hwoarang asks, sounding curious. _“He probably could’ve had a good shot.”_

 

“He’s...a private person.” Jin says slowly. _Yeah, that’s a way of saying it._ “Like I said, he knows how the tournaments work – or don’t work, I guess – and just didn’t want to get mixed up in all of it. He would’ve preferred that I do the same, but. Well. We both know how _that_ worked out.”

 

Hwoarang snorts. _“Right. You got busted.”_

 

“In a...manner of speaking.”

 

_“In all seriousness, though, I’m glad you did it. I know that’s a little...presumptuous, considering I’m not the one who had to put up with the consequences, but. You know. If you hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have met you and gotten to fight you. And shit. You know. Yeah. Anyway.”_

 

Jin laughs quietly, feeling all kinds of fondness at Hwoarang’s nervous rambling. He can’t fault him for any of it, not when they’re in it together.

 

“I know what you mean.” He replies, taking care to keep his voice light yet sincere. “I feel the same way.”

 

 _“Heh.”_ A beat of silence, then – _“Alright, I’ve gotta go. Sleep, and maybe you’ll be awake enough to talk later?”_

 

“Always.”

 

_“Sweet. Some other time, then, Kazama?”_

 

Jin smiles. “Some other time.”

 

* * *

 

The last phone call they share is short, stilted out of necessity but no less meaningful than the previous ones. Jin can tell that Hwoarang is trying to keep it together, but over what, he can’t quite figure out until his friend tells him explicitly.

 

_(“I’ve been drafted.” He says, voice tight and a little defeated and Jin feels the floor open up beneath his feet.)_

 

And not just drafted. Hwoarang is vague on the details, most likely for the sake of Jin’s safety, but it seems as though he was directly contacted about some serious, dangerous work that isn’t exactly optional. Jin can barely focus on the particulars of it, trying and failing as he is to ignore the yawning void that has torn itself open inside of his soul. It takes Hwoarang starting to wrap up the call to jerk Jin out of his ruminations, and even then, it isn’t for much.

 

“Please be safe.” He whispers, almost begging, and he hears Hwoarang sigh on the other end.

 

 _“Yeah.”_ A pause. _“Some other time, then, Kazama?”_

 

Jin swallows.

 

“Some other time.”

 

* * *

 

There is little else to do but throw himself into training.

 

He knows it’s just a means of coping, but it has always been his preferred one, and he isn’t about to change his ways now. Whenever reality comes and shatters whatever tiny, sunlit corner of the world that he’s been living in, this is the first thing he turns to. It’ll probably be the first thing he turns to for the rest of his life, honestly. Never mind that he’s afraid, never mind that he doesn’t know what could happen, never mind that he has a terrible, _terrible_ feeling about all of this. He has to try. For Hwoarang, he has to try, has to keep going, has to have faith that things are going to turn out alright.

 

Lee, despite his obvious concern, doesn’t question his methods (at least, not yet). He seems to understand that, for now, this is exactly what Jin needs. Maybe he’s used to it after putting up with him for long. Maybe it’s his own preferred way of handling difficult things. Whatever the reason, Jin is grateful for it, because it actually allows them to collaborate effectively despite his pain.

 

The pressure that Lee places on him is a welcome distraction, and Jin thrives under the scrutiny, developing and perfecting his arsenal with a singular sort of focus. Seeing Lee behaving so seriously is a change of pace, too, and it helps – the man is observant and exacting, his own form flawless as he demonstrates and dictates until Jin can perform the motions just like him. They push each other, sometimes training to the point of exhaustion, although Lee never lets him go too far. He’s always refused to let Jin hurt himself like that, and he doesn’t seem inclined to start now.

 

Other than training, though, he tends to leave Jin be for the most part. A few days after Jin had told him about Hwoarang being drafted, he’d approached him during dinner with a brief report on what he’d managed to gather regarding his friend’s current situation.

 

It was...far from comforting.

 

Jin isn’t too familiar with the activities of South Korea’s Special Operations Division, but he knows enough to be extremely worried about Hwoarang’s safety. Lee’s demeanor when he’d brought it up to Jin hadn’t helped at all, either, but at least he knows. It’s a small, if not nonexistent, reassurance.

 

So he trains. He fights, he works, he pushes himself until he practically collapses into a restless, nightmare-riddled sleep. It’s far from a perfect system (or a healthy one, for that matter), but it’s all that he has right now. Eventually, he knows that Lee will put a stop to it, but for the moment, he does what he can and ignores what he can’t.

 

Of course, when it catches up to him, Lee is there to keep him together. He always is, knows better than anyone else where his limits are. When Jin’s breaths come shorter and his knees give out and he hits the floor like he’s been trying not to do for days, Lee is there, kneeling in front of him, lightly touching his shoulder to get his attention.

 

“Jin?” He tries, voice hushed. “Jin, can you hear me?”

 

He nods jerkily, wanting to curl in on himself. However, Lee seems to be aware of this impulse, because he reaches out to him again.

 

“Jin, you’re exhausted.” He says softly, brushing a thumb along Jin’s cheek as if to emphasize how tired he looks. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. Have you been able to rest at all?”

 

He shakes his head miserably, and Lee makes a sympathetic sound.

 

“Not even with all this training?”

 

The request for clarification is there, but Jin is sure that Lee knows how it is, knows why he looks so bad. It’s one of those lifelong complications that they both share, one of those things that Lee is so helpful with primarily because he knows it so damn well. Jin shakes his head again, wanting nothing more than to let this all go.

 

“Come stay the night with me,” Lee murmurs to him, smoothing his bangs back in a comforting manner. “You need to sleep, little one. Please. Let me help you.”

 

Jin closes his eyes, his throat tight. His guardian’s touch feels so good, grounding in a way that nothing else has been so far. He is wretchedly inclined to wallow in his own misery, he knows this. Lee knows it, too, and while he’s been exceedingly patient, he also knows that he has to intervene now before things get out of hand. Lee has done his part, has comforted him, has reached out – now it’s up to Jin to reach back, to take what has been offered and find a way to accept it.

 

_Let me help you._

 

“Okay.” He manages. “Okay.”

 

Lee kisses his forehead. “You’re alright. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

A warm bath, some comfy pajamas, and a cup of tea later, Jin is starting to feel much calmer. There’s still an edge to it, of course, an inescapable pressure locked around his heart like a vise, but at least he feels like he can breathe now. At least he’s remembered that he doesn’t have to handle this on his own. At least his reality, while still darker than he’d like it to be, isn’t as infinite as it used to be.

 

Lee strokes his hair with one hand and hums quietly, little strains of one of the tunes that he’s been comforting Jin with since he first started putting him to bed like this. Jin knows the song by heart at this point, at least in part – he’s never heard the words, aren’t even sure if there are any. In a way, it almost doesn’t matter.

 

The other song, he’d been surprised to find, is the same lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was younger. Lee doesn’t use that one unless Jin requests it – the first time he’d started humming it, Jin had been so startled that getting him to sleep afterwards was even harder than it was before.

 

(The following day, Jin hadn’t been able to resist asking him where he’d learned it. Lee had shrugged, gazing out the window as he’d replied, with no small amount of wistfulness, “...a friend.”)

 

Jin sighs, settling more heavily on Lee’s lap.

 

“Do you think...?” He starts, unsure if he should continue. Lee pauses to allow it, though, so Jin soldiers on. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

 

Lee is quiet for a few moments, seemingly considering Jin’s question. It’s clear that he’s weighing the benefits of placating him versus being honest, and how to best account for both in a reply that needs to somehow ease Jin’s fears enough to let him get some sleep. It’s no small task, but somehow Jin feels that Lee will at least be able to make the whole situation seem less awful.

 

“...he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who dies, does he?” Lee eventually says, smiling a little at Jin’s surprised sputter of laughter. “I’m serious, though. He’s probably been through quite a bit in his life, just based on what I found and his apparent upbringing. Sometimes, for people like that, nothing is harder or more liable to kill them than what they’ve already been through.”

 

“You think so?” Jin asks, although he’s momentarily distracted by Lee choosing that moment to start scratching his head. “I...I’m scared.”

 

“And that’s alright.” Lee replies, gently shushing him. “It means you care about him and that you don’t want him to get hurt. There’s nothing wrong with that. But. You also have to have faith in his abilities, in his determination, in his desire to fight you again.”

 

Lee pauses for a moment, contemplating something. “He’ll come back to you. I know he will. He’s much too stubborn for you to never see him again.”

 

“He’s definitely stubborn,” Jin agrees, and Lee chuckles. “...thank you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” He plays idly with Jin’s bangs for a moment, a surge of fondness rising up in his aura that Jin couldn’t miss if he tried. “I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Jin believes him.

 


End file.
